The Takahashi Family Saga
by en-lumine
Summary: Of isolation, pain and forgotten vows of protection. At times, the very forces that bind one to another often drives them apart. Follow the journey of an estranged father and a forsaken son in overcoming their demons to salvage their familial bonds. Current update: Father and Son embark on the road to redemption. Please read and review!
1. Of Love and Loss I

Well, well. Seems like the writing-bug has bitten me once more.

Won't keep you all too long. Firstly, you've opened this fic, meaning you have some remote interest in it - I sincerely do hope you enjoy it. To put simply, Kenshi remains probably my most favourite MK character - and although I have other favourites, none of them compel me as intensely to sit my lazy ass down, and to explore and/or write about them in particular. I have been enjoying the recent MK game, but do feel the story mode was sparse, loosely connected and could have been better (for starters, Kenshi should have gotten a chapter, amongst others, but I digress).

My aim with this fic, however, is to combine the events of the MKX comics and the game's storyline - to fill in the gaps, to develop and flesh out the characters more.. I can't promise when it will end - I envision this to be a weird concoction of a series of oneshots, with some minor 3-4 chapter arcs. Given my hectic schedule as a final year student, I will try my best to update this as soon as I can, but no promises. Irrespective, I hope this summer I can get enough words on paper to justify having this published.

**Disclaimer:** I own none of the characters. Just playing around with the events of the new timeline, hoping the voids would make for a decent story.

**Warning:** Contains spoilers for the storymode and MK comics, obviously.

**Additional note:** Hailing from an Asian culture myself, I have tried my best to be as accurate as I can of how Eastern values are presented here. Nevertheless, I'm still not deeply informed of Thai values - if there is anything that is seen as inappropriate, or out of line, I apologise in advance and humbly request you to let me know promptly so I can fix the said mistake. I mean no ill-will or disrespect to anyone, thank you.

* * *

**The Takahashi Family Saga**

**Of Love and Loss**

**I**

* * *

**Lampang, Thailand**

**March, 1999**

"Oi, Takeda! Wait up, you're going too fast!"

Nopadan was panting and puffing, the adorably rotund second-grader struggled to catch up to his speeding best friend. Presently, school had just ended and despite their mothers' warnings to return straight home, the duo raced to catch glimpse of the new carnival just outside of town. The hot humid air had begun to take its toll on the boy, and for the moment, he regretted saying yes to his best friend's plan of the current detour.

Unhindered, Nopadan's friend ran on, his speed and agility reflecting the excitement as it boiled forth from his being. Light blue eyes slightly watering from the impact of the rushing wind, mouth set in a permanent grin – Takeda Takahashi was filled with glee; the time and distance that separated him from the carnival just could not erase itself any faster than this.

After a few more minutes of running, the boys came close to the cliff that overlooked the carnival as it was being set up. Nopadan crashed with a loud thud onto the grass, rivulets of sweat rolling off of his forehead, terribly missing the lemonade and dumplings his mother would have had ready for him. Takeda, on the other hand, ignored his antics entirely. Unfolding below them was one of the biggest carnivals being arranged by the municipality of Lampang – complete with cheap rides, fruit stalls and his favourite cotton candy! And here was Nopadan, crying about the heat as always.

"Nopa, get up, you! Just look at it! They said we'll have seven rides this year – seven!" exclaimed Takeda, dragging his friend up to look at the scene below. "Man, oh man, I can't wait to tell my mother about this! She—"

"Not this year, weirdo Take-da!"

Takeda stopped mid-sentence, feeling his blood run both hot and cold at the sound of the dreaded fifth-grader, Klahan. Nopadan grasped Takeda's shoulder slightly, in a show of support, before both the boys turned to face Klahan directly.

"What do you want, Klahan?" Takeda asked, angry at the brazenly mocking tone of the older student.

"Oh, I was just being considerate," sneered Kalahan, a few others from his gang sniggering to his words. "I just want to tell you to say good-bye of ever attending the carnival!"

"Why? I will go to the carnival, who're you to stop me?!" Takeda shot back, furious and with fists clenching for a fight he had long denied himself.

"Takeda, easy!" whispered Nopadan urgently, tugging at his sleeve. "Just ignore him, let's get out of here!"

"Quiet, Nopa. I got this!" the younger boy whispered ferociously.

"Hahaa!" Klahan and his friends roared with laughter at Takeda's response. "Did you see that, guys? Poor little Take-da raising his voice against me! Oh how rude of you Take-da – didn't your mother teach you some manners?"

A fit of hilarity took the group of older students, as Takeda and Nopadan grew increasingly flustered.

"Oh wait, Klahan! His mother is hardly ever home to teach him anything!" One of Klahan's friend continued, this time, wiping a tear off from his eye as he continued to laugh. "Take-da's so poor, his mother has to work all day to survive!"

"Takeda let's go…."

"Shut up, Nopa!"

This was not the first time Takeda was being bullied in and outside of school. From mocking his unusual name, to questioning his slightly wider blue eyes, to his poverty-stricken background. The latter bit hurt Takeda the most – his mother had always provided everything he needed and ever wanted, whilst instilling the importance of money and the sense of being careful with it. Yet somehow, for these few kids, the fact that Suchin was a working mother who supported her small family was an incident too far removed from their conception of normalcy. It hurt Takeda to see his mother being mocked about so cheaply.

"Don't you dare talk about my mother!" shot back Takeda as white hot fury flared within him. He rushed forward, small fists raised, with the intention of hurting Klahan despite his own dim chances. Nopadan sensibly held him back, muttering reassurances and pleading him to leave the bullies alone.

The situation only exacerbated.

"Know what, Klahan? Sue told me, Takeda's mother isn't even married to his father! How indecent is that?!"

"Stop it, Chen!"

"That explains why Take-da's so poor – his mother probably never got her dowry!"

"I'm warning you, Kla-"

Klahan was gasping for breath in the midst of his uncontrollable fits of laughter. He snorted a little, before continuing:

"D'ya know the best part? It's about his _dad_! Sue told me Take-da's father can't see! He is actually BLIND! He probably found Takeda so ugly, he lost his sight and ran away! Now you see why he's such a wimp - wimpy Take-da takes after his wimpy, useless, blind dad!"

Nopadan audibly gasped, and said something to the elder boys, which Takeda didn't register. He stopped struggling against his friend, and with a bowed head, let his fists drop to his sides, limp. A sense of crippling shame overtook the child - a deep blush crept up to his ears and neck, while a trickle of trepidation, cold as ice, rolled down the length of his spine in spite of the sweltering humidity. Tears sprang to Takeda's cerulean eyes, and despite his attempts to drink them back, they began to roll down on to the ground, akin to the first few drops rain falling on the scorched desert.

'_My dad is an important man! He has work to do - mother would never lie! He never abandoned us!'_ In his mind, Takeda screamed these words to the heavens and beyond; but for the life of him, he simply could not get even the first syllable to come out from his overly constricted throat. In front of Klahan and his friends, he remained silent. A shaky sob escaped his lips, and without another word, Takeda fled.

Through the same area where he had been running gleefully, Takeda's delight of seeing the carnival come to town had all but drowned in an overwhelming sense of worthlessness and humiliation. The tears now flowed freely, while his sobbing became louder. The only thing the young boy sought at that point in time was his mother's embrace, and the fact that she probably won't be home to provide it drove home the point even further – he was from a poor household, his faceless blind father did abandon them, and his existence was without honour. Klahan would have spread it to the whole school come the next morning.

By the time he reached the locality where he resided, Takeda's tears had dried up but his eyes remained downcast. Briefly, only briefly, did he feel the uncertain weight on his shoulders shift a little when he saw his mother unlocking the door to his house. Without announcing his arrival, he bolted straight for her arms, enveloping his mother in the tightest hug he could muster – missing the half-crazed, frantic gaze of the terrified young woman who could not get in to the house fast enough.

* * *

**Classified Location**

**Remote village, Japan**

'_Run, goddamnit, run…'_

Kenshi writhed in the sheets, convulsing from the horrors he was witnessing whilst supposedly being asleep. It wasn't just another nightmare for the swordsman, however – this particular recurring dream would leave him shaken to his very core, bringing with it more questions than answers. The increased frequency since the past few weeks, especially with the Red Dragon in hot pursuit, had unnerved him to no end.

Unlike when he was awake, Kenshi's dreams were always remained colourful and visual, a respite from the persistent, permanent gray darkness that was his blindness. Restful slumber brought with it an outlet where he could put together all the information he collected from his other senses, coalescing and forging images too powerful for eyes to perceive. When he dreamt, blindness as an impairment ceased to exist for him in its entirety.

All except for now; now his supposed reprieve was morphing into an ugly, heinous beast inside his mind, tearing away at his sanity as he remained too helpless to do anything.

_He would recognise her by her scent from afar – jasmine, fresh water. Her chi would be reflected in the colours mirroring the purity of her heart across his spiritual vision. He could feel his senses be intoxicated in her presence – the long silky hair, the almond shaped eyes, the rapier wit and feigned haughtiness that would leave others scratching for answers. Not Kenshi. He had broken into her defenses and recognised her for the goodness of her soul – a revelation that Suchin herself was yet unaware of._

_But she was in trouble. He could see the nerves wrought with tension, the simmering anxiety, the damned nervous wringing of her hands. She clutched a young boy to her bosom – maybe her son? – but he could see the tears at the corner of her eyes which she willed and drank back. _

_Suchin, however, was not alone. There was a darkness, crimson - watching, plotting, planning, waiting… Until – the flash of a katana. Metal clanged against metal, steel blades ripping, slicing skin, flesh and sinew. For a while, there was chaos, there was blood, terror… Then all fell silent. _

Kenshi clutched the sheets, his knuckles going dangerously white as sweat poured down from the sides of his temples into his hair. The veins in his neck, forehead and forearms protruded prominently from his pale skin; he constantly changed positions, unable to break free from the imagery cast by his own mind.

_Now he was running. He was on the run again. With a weight at his back, in the wilderness of what seemed like a remote part of Earthrealm. The only goal in mind was to get to safety, for the crimson darkness followed him, threatening to engulf and suffocate him. Every ounce of muscle on his body was on fire, his legs screaming for respite yet in his mind, no… He had to get to safety, he needed to survive this.. but he was tired. Exhausted. A moment's breather was all that was required. A strange ringing noise… The crimson darkness was onto him, now tearing his insides apart… He had failed…_

"Aaargh!" Kenshi awoke finally with a start, a ferocious ringing in his ears that rattled all other perceptions. He boxed his ears and grunted, trying to get his bearings - and after a few painful moments, the ringing eventually began to subside. Panting, he sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, and leaned back on his hands awkwardly; his eyes clenched shut, as an explosion of pain flared across from one temple to another. Sweat continued to pour in rivers from his face, down the length of a straight nose. Breathing deeply, he covered his face with quivering, stone-cold hands, and tried to calm himself. The images played unrelentingly behind his closed eyes, as he willed them away, defensively beckoning the Sento to his hand.

Merely holding the sheathed katana brought some semblance of tranquility to the weary, edgy swordsman. As he felt his senses return to normal, he realised what had caused him to snap out from his nightmare. A peculiar, electronic ringing – one he had never heard before. It took a while before his confused mind registered the sound as coming from the Special Forces' satellite phone – one which he had cranked a generator for months to charge, only for it to never ring.

Until this very moment.

Rushing down the stairs of his small hut, he finally came to the telephone stand, inhaling deeply before picking up the receiver and speaking directly into it.

"Major Blade, this is Takahashi Kenshi, reporting."

* * *

**Well, that's it for now, guys! I hope you all enjoyed this, please do review and let me know of any criticisms or concerns. Thanks! :)**


	2. Of Love and Loss II

Hello guys! Apologies for the delay - had to take a small, unexpected roadtrip with my family. Just got back and finished this up. Had to rewrite and readjust a number of scenes - and bang in the middle, I got the most compelling idea for how I would write about Kenshi becoming possessed/breaking the Sento - I honestly can't wait to get to that bit, but I've to cover some ground work here first, so you'll have to be patient with me as well.

Anyhow, this chapter is a tad Suchin-centric, canon from the comics. My, my what a lady. It was an absolute pleasure writing about her. Also, Sonya and Johnny Cage too feature in this chapter, whose crumbling marriage and their relation to Cassie was also pretty interesting for me to explore (more on that later). Nevertheless, do expect to see such cameos/characters return frequently as they are essential to the Takahashis' own development.

Before beginning, let me just give a shoutout to my wonderful reviewers - **BrutusSilentium**, **iceangelmkx** and **Take-Jacq **for taking out time to write out to me about the story and encouraging me to continue - I truly appreciate it! :)

Also, I was quite surprised to note the number of favourites/follows this story got - an additional thank you to **Obelisk of Light**, **Poe's Daughter**, **Hollywollypolly**, **meenachalle**, **ninjaeis13** and the **Mistress of Shadow Dragons **for reading my story and favouriting/following it. I would love to read any comments, criticisms, ideas, or just all your thoughts on how the updates are - so do let me know what you think of this!

**Disclaimer: I own no one, nothing. Just filling in the gaps.**

* * *

**The Takahashi Family Saga**

**Of Love and Loss**

**II**

* * *

_Lampang, Thailand_

_March, 1999_

Suchin did not require any telepathy to sense that something was horribly wrong in her side of the town. Stores were being closed early, factory workers were let off from their work without completing half the day – everyone felt a sense of palpable yet unfounded terror in the streets, yet no one could be hard-pressed to factually define what scared them out of their element. Since the past few days, she had often wondered if all this had something to with the new recruiter around town, that _'Mavado-khun.'_

Until today. Today, her entire reality, the seemingly secure existence of her little family had ripped itself apart at the seams, in front of her eyes as she remained too helpless to do anything. One note – three sentences, pinned down by an onyx dagger shaped like a dragon with menacing ruby-eyes, were all that were required to send the once-confident Suchin into a frenzy of paranoia. The image of the words, written in blood and stamped with a medieval seal, replayed on continuously in her mind.

_It will all end tonight. _

_By the name of Daegon - you, Suchin, and your child will pay for Takahashi Kenshi's vile treachery with your blood. _

_Tonight -the Red Dragon will claim your traitorous souls._

Suchin had discovered the damning note on her work-desk as she returned from lunch. There were no doubts about the authenticity of the threat – despite her simplistic lifestyle, Suchin was intelligently aware of the developments of crime syndicates and their umbrella operations in developing countries. Whatever doctrines or dogmas this Daegon and the Red Dragon stood for, she knew that targeting a struggling single mother and a minor would be a task all too easy for such organisations.

She took off without a word from her work. Fear took her heart in a vicious grip, the muscles in her back and neck becoming wrought with tension, constricting her breathing, disorienting her to the extent that she simply could not bear to register any of her surroundings as she made her way of home. Trapped in the haze of her own mind, the only instinct that kept from the young single mother from screaming out from sheer terror was the thought of her son; that she must get to Takeda at all costs.

_Takeda._

Images of the young boy flashed through her eyes - growing up from an active toddler, to a quiet, mild-mannered but fiercely headstrong young boy. The thought warmed her heart. Polite, playful, obedient - with a killer sweet tooth. He was growing up quickly now - she could see he'll reflect the edginess and the confidence Suchin once had exhibited herself. Before motherhood changed her, made her overly cautious and forever fearful. She could tell already that he would grow up to be a bold, self-reliant young man, with a thick mane of silky hair he'd gotten directly from Suchin, and penetrating cerulean eyes that were nowhere in her lineage - his father's unmistakable bequest. His father...

'_Kenshi… Takahashi Kenshi... What have you done? What have you become? How could you endanger - No, you wouldn't… How do Takeda and I get out of this? What have we got to do with this? Takeda! My heart… God, no…'_

Her mind was a chorus of irrational, erratic thoughts and questions for which she had no answers, no solutions. The bus ride that normally took 25 minutes to reach her street, seemed like centuries' worth of futile travel. Yet by the time Suchin had reached home, she had had some semblance of wit to come up with a half-decent plan. Or, more accurately, furnish a plan from events that were already in place.

The only way, she thought, to ensure Takeda's chances of survival.

With nervous, trembling hands, Suchin took out the keys to her humble abode – fumbling and dropping them twice before she was finally successful in unlocking the door. Right before she entered, she felt two small arms grab a hold of her from behind, taking her form into as tight an embrace an eight-year old could muster. For once, Suchin was unafraid, unperturbed by Takeda's sudden show of affection – she crouched and took the child into her arms, as he sobbed, but vehemently refused to tell her what upset him.

Suchin brought him inside as silently as he had embraced her, making him sit on the kitchen counter. She wiped away his tears before hurriedly locking the door, drawing the curtains over the windows. Darkness, she felt, would ward off the cult's prying eyes - and in that moment, she nearly wished that all manner and manifestations of light in itself ceased to exist, forever.

In the darkened room, Suchin managed to fill a cup of water, which she brought to her son - his face illuminated by a sole, defiant ray of light that came from the kitchen curtains. He looked up at her with red-rimmed cerulean eyes that tore at her bruised heart, but Suchin realised that the time to play a normal mother to Takeda was long past now.

"Takeda, listen to me," Suchin began, smoothing his hair and cupping his cheeks as he looked into her eyes.

"What... what's wrong, mama?" The boy's eyelashes cast a long shadow underneath his eyes as looked down to take a sip from the cup, before bringing his gaze back to his mother's face. The image of the young boy, strong yet fragile in her own conflicting imagination, etched itself indelibly into her mind. His concern, was innocent as it was, left her unusually dumbfounded.

It was a peculiar moment of realisation for Suchin. Previously, she had never found herself reduced to such helpless nothingness, nor allowed the odds to overwhelm her. Not when she was harassed by four thugs in the encounter where she first met the love of her life, not when she defied her mother and everything else she held dear to her heart to pursue an intense relationship with Takahashi Kenshi, and most certainly not when she faced the ridicule of the world around her as she brought up a child herself out of wedlock whilst barely making minimum wage.

How could she permit some cultish, mindless goons to dictate and victimise her family like that? She would tear apart anyone who tried to threaten her little paradise – Kenshi had taught her as much, if not more than that.

A streak of blinding rage sparked within the young single mother, as she gritted her teeth and dug her nails into her palms, feeling an adrenaline rush coming on.

"Mama! You're bleeding!" Takeda exclaimed, scuffling to get off the table.

Suchin snapped out of her reverie and realised that there was a small vein of blood flowing from one of her palms, the result of clenching her fist too tightly. She let out a breathless, humourless laugh, and shook her head as she wiped her hand off a nearby napkin. _'Save the rage for later, Suchin,'_ she thought to herself.

"It's- it's nothing," she murmured to her son, before holding his hands and making him look at her. Takeda did not press her, but she could see the curious, questioning gaze, accompanied by a slight tilt of the head he unknowingly acquired from his father.

"Remember I told you, your grandmother is coming today, right?" asked Suchin, asked, trying her best to keep her voice from quivering.

"Oh yeah! Kun-Yaai is coming – I almost forgot!" little Takeda nearly smacked his own forehead.

"There's been a change of plans, son. You're going with her for a few days-" Suchin paused. _'Please don't ask why.'_

"Why?" Takeda frowned. "Spring break isn't until another week."

"She-she just misses having you around her, little one," she comforted her son, combing his hair affectionately with her fingers. "It'll be fine, I will speak to your teacher about it, you don't worry." Suchin found a strangest sense of courage swelling up inside her as her son, albeit very reluctantly, accepted her words. Or at least, did not question her any further.

"Oh… You'll come with us too, right?" Takeda asked, rubbing his eye tiredly.

"I will – in a day or two…" Suchin replied, nodding to herself. "There are just a few things I need to take care of first..."

Takeda nodded. "I'll go pack my stuff…" Just as the young boy was about to get off the table when his mother enveloped him in a tight embrace. He almost groaned a little, annoyed, but his mother did not let go until several long moments.

"Just-just one last thing, son," began Suchin, unsure of how her son would react to her following words.

Given the content of the note, given Kenshi's unshakable convictions and will, Suchin could not help but feel his return was inevitable. She had no way to contact him herself, but still could not ignore her irrational intuition - this belief following the Red Dragon's threat, was as natural, as elemental to Suchin, as was the assurance that the ground beneath her feet was solid, and the boy in front of her presently was her own son.

These were ideas that Suchin could not just simply explain to Takeda. How does one introduce the perpetually absent father to a child who has never seen, never heard of him? How does one begin to explain what kind of work the blind swordsman did, or does, and his damned wanderlust that has kept him away from his kin for so long? How does one frame the unannounced, bewildering, even improbable return of such a parent when you're especially trying to evade any questions on the intensely dire circumstances that had gripped your family in its hold?

Suchin inhaled deeply before continuing. "Takeda… Your- I'm not sure, but I think your father will visit you. Listen to him, and do as he says, do you understand?" As soon as the words were out, Suchin knew her son wouldn't take them well.

"I don't have a father, mom," Takeda tensed up and broke the embrace, refusing to look into her eyes as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Takeda!" she exclaimed sharply, scolding.

The boy erupted. "He's never around, why would he come back now? I-I don't even know that he looks like!" Takeda shouted. "He can't even see, how would he recognise us?!" Takeda wailed, exasperated. Suchin closed her eyes shut and felt the euphoric sense of courage she was feeling mere moments ago, be crushed by the weight of reality in her bosom, replaced by an emptiness akin to that of a defeat on a battlefield.

"Takeda, my son – listen," she began calmly. "He's your father, he will recognise you – he'll feel it in here," she placed a hand at the boy's beating heart, "and that's how he'll know."

Unknown to the boy, Kenshi had done the exact same to Suchin, before telling her what she was thinking, naming her unnamed emotions for the swordsman, before confessing the nature of his true work, and his need to leave her, eventually. The memory brought tears to Suchin's eyes.

"Heed him, son – for my sake!" Suchin continued. "He will always protect you…" - _'far, far better than I can,' _Suchin mentally concluded.

Takeda's face was a mask of conflicting emotions, as he gazed at the floor, torn at how he could respond to his mother, especially when she spoke like that, leaving him no option but to comply.

"Will you do that for me?" Suchin whispered, her voice breaking with all sense of composure.

Takeda looked up with wide eyes, and grabbed his mother's hand. "Mama, please tell me what happen-"

"Promise me, Takahashi Takeda!" Suchin cried. "Do you promise you'll listen to Kenshi?" In some remote part of her mind, Suchin realised this was the first time she had taken the swordsman's name in front of her son. A bitter revelation, a mistake on her part she realised, as she stared pleadingly into his eyes.

Takeda felt cornered, and knew he would have to give in. "O-kay…" Takeda croaked, sadly, thinking that he would do anything to make his mother happy – even if it meant meeting the faceless father who had abandoned them. "But I won't like it," he grumbled.

Suchin let out a small laugh as she kissed her son's forehead. "Thank you, Takeda," she smiled the first genuine smile for the day with teary eyes. "By the way, I remembered – I saved up a little for your carnival-"

"Whaa- you did?!" Takeda could not hide his gladness. Suchin's heart nearly skipped a beat at how innocent he was, how small his world was and how dangerously close it was to the brink of destruction. The realisation shook her to the core, reinforcing the belief that her current decision was most certainly the most appropriate course of action, for Takeda at least.

"I sure did!" she smiled forcefully, "Now go get your stuff, Kun-Yaai will be here any minute now!"

* * *

_Special Forces Base_

_Classified Location_

Major Blade felt a cold chill in her otherwise perfectly warm Special Forces cabin. Her husband, Johnny Cage, the only other occupant, was visibly disturbed although he tried to hide it. The actor's presence in the room was arguably unprofessional on her part, and most probably a stupid idea given that they were seriously considering separation at that point in time.

The atmosphere in the room, oddly enough, almost reflected their marriage - mounting, palpable tension shrouded with thoughts of an untimely end. But Sonya had to suppress that thought, focus on the task at hand. The incessant, haunting dial tone of the satellite phone had been going on for far too long now. Sonya did not glance once at Johnny – as if the act would somehow validate their worst fears - that Daegon or his goons might have gotten to Kenshi, or worse.

Johnny Cage. Sonya would be hard-pressed to ever acknowledge how secretly glad she was to have him at her side for the moment. For now, she was to deliver a particularly baffling piece of news to a close ally, who had narrowly escaped the deathly clutches of the Red Dragon clan; and was living more or less, the life of a fugitive on the run. All thanks to an undercooked espionage plan she had hastily agreed to, and emphatically asked the swordsman to be a part of. Unknowingly, Sonya's ambitious plan for the SF had dragged the only semblance of his family directly into the crossfire of a brutal criminal organisation who would stop at no costs to eradicate the Takahashi lineage.

No answer. Deliberately avoiding eye contact with Cage, Sonya dialed the number again.

More than ever, she would now need Johnny to smooth-talk over Kenshi should he not take the news well. Given their comfortable friendship, she felt herself unusually counting on him to work the charisma the actor usually saved only for the cameras. And heaven forbid – Sonya would gladly eat a gun before admitting it – Cage's charm at times actually _works. _Not that she expected Kenshi to fall for it the slightest, but Sonya realised that despite his seemingly calm profile, the forthcoming conversation with the swordsman could possibly take an uncivil turn. Scratch that, it probably will. This, embarrassingly, rendered her estranged husband almost a contingency plan.

Cage was, however, uncharacteristically quiet – cognisant of the importance of the matter at hand. He'd have once flicked his collar back and remarked casually how kids merely only complicate things, but fatherhood had changed him in mysterious, and otherwise, not-so-mysterious ways. Discovering the existence of your child, and then immediately, an impending danger to their life because of your actions – Johnny practically shivered. Any thought of harm coming to Cassie aroused in him emotions he simply couldn't name. He couldn't dare to imagine the complexity of the swordsman's position when he learns of the news.

_Click._

"Major Blade, this is Takahashi Kenshi, reporting," the weary, yet welcome voice of the blind swordsman ripped through loud and clear on the SF satellite device.

Johnny Cage breathed a sigh of relief.

"Glad you picked up, Ken - we were beginning to get worried," Johnny Cage's voice was laced with concern for his respected, close counterpart. Sonya meanwhile, pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to clear her mind.

There was a minor hesitation from the other end of the line – probably as Kenshi mulled over how to respond to Cage's frank remark, even though the medium used was hardly meant for exchanging casual pleasantries.

"How's the little one doing?" Kenshi's voice seemed hoarse, yet one could detect the barest hint of a smile in his voice as he deliberately evaded Cage's previous statement-cum-question. It was just easier that way for him.

Yet Sonya nearly winced at his words; telepath or not, Kenshi had unknowingly cut close to the chase.

"Good, thanks. I have some crucial intel to pass onto you, Kenshi," Sonya spoke clearly into the mic.

"Continue," came a curt, serious reply.

"We've been tracking movements and gathering low-level ground intelligence from some known Red Dragon gangs – there's been a sudden, intense interest in extending their sphere of influence to Thailand. It… it took us a while, but we had to be one hundred percent certain before we broke the news to you, Kenshi-" Sonya paused, only briefly.

"You have an eight-year old son from a woman named Suchin, residing near Lampang," Major Blade did not flinch the slightest as she uttered the words. Cage bowed his head and leaned against the wall with arms folded.

"I… _What?!_"

"You heard me correctly. We were able to obtain local hospital records and run a DNA scan that confirmed the identity of your family. We fear that the Red Dragon have-"

"Just… stop," Kenshi growled as an uncomfortable, heavy pause ensued. Sonya began to lose her concern to growing impatience. Things were clearly not moving along fast enough, and they were losing precious time – she had to do something about it.

Before she could reply harshly to the swordsman, Sonya felt a hand settle on her forearm and turn her around as Johnny Cage, privy to the conversation, fiercely silenced his wife by putting a finger on his own lips, expression uncommonly stern. She felt a wave of annoyance drown out her inner reason as she contemplated smacking the hand away and possibly shoving a palm-strike in his face for intruding in on her work. Cage saw her intent written plainly on her face, and his gesture changed quickly to one of defense as he held his hands up.

"Easy, Sonya - give him a second," Johnny whispered lowly to her. Surprisingly enough, she decided to back off.

As rare was it was, Johnny was right. Takahashi Kenshi had barely escaped a number of brutal attacks on his life, all whilst following the orders and doing Sonya a favour by playing a double-crossing Special Forces agent who was well-established in the Red Dragon ranks. Before that, he had been pursuing the cult unilaterally and single-handedly to satisfy his own personal convictions. Despite his initial concerns, he finally consented to work for the SF on Sonya's personal request – rendering her personally responsible in part for the mess. And Cage, driving home the point with his usual brash tact, merely exemplified Sonya's nebulous, confused sense of guilt.

Regardless, Sonya sent a glare his way, before turning her attention away from the actor.

"What have those bastards done to Suchin and my son? Don't mince words with me, Major," the swordsman's rage was poorly masked, his words quivering under the weight of his own threatening tone.

"We're not sure, Kenshi. Mavado has made his presence known in Lampang; he's heavily recruiting there. There's been a movement of troops – but we'd have received word if your family was targeted directly by now."

"_If?!_ God-damn it, Sonya! Mavado is in the area, and the SF wasted God-knows how many days merely determining their identities! I-" Kenshi all but roared, before he himself paused mid-sentence. "Send me the exact co-ordinates of their location, Major. I'll handle this personally."

"I'll issue them to your communication devices promptly. I've also dispatched a specialist unit and a chopper to aid you in their rescue. They'll reach our check-post to the north of your current location at 0800 hours, local time-"

"Thank you, Major Blade, but I won't sit around and wait until then. There is _no_ time," Kenshi's icy tone could have cut through concrete. Sonya gritted her teeth and nodded, seeing his logic despite the condescending attitude. "If you can, get the same force, under-cover to Thailand – complete with differing aliases, IDs and documentation, with tickets to the earliest ships and flights out from both Lampang and Bangkok. I'll let you know if I need any further help."

"Think it through, Kenshi – we can't afford to lose out to any rash decisions at this point," Sonya spoke calmly. "What is your plan?"

"Get to Suchin and my… son – protect them, get them to safety…" came the husky response, the anger and iciness of moments before giving way to a constricting, undefined hollowness.

The Cages' were all too familiar with the nameless emotion that had gripped their counterpart – the helplessness, the uncertainty, the feeling of having the ground pulled from underneath your feet at the prospect of harm coming to your kin. That sheer vulnerability had propelled Earthrealm's strongest fighters to beat the odds and defeat Shinnok some years ago – Sonya's heart twisted in pain for her ally as he stated his simplistically profound objectives.

"You get those low-life punks good, Kenshi!" Johnny replied, slightly optimistic, in a bid to pump up the swordsman.

"Alright. We'll keep you updated on all Red Dragon movements, and have a force on stand-by at Bangkok within the day. Let us know immediately should you require anything. All the best," confirmed Sonya.

Kenshi replaced the receiver without a goodbye, as was evident from a forced click that was the only reply.

Johnny Cage let out a low whistle. "Well, that went well," he said, dead-pan in a poor attempt to break the awkward silence in between him and his estranged wife.

Sonya continued to stare ahead at the LED display screen of the SF main-base computer; at the two side-by-side pictures of a beautiful long-haired Thai-American woman and a young boy with cerulean eyes and features that were a carbon copy of the older Takahashi, complete with the familiar confident tilt of the head. People she had never met, and had only known about their existence off the face of the Earth in these past few hours – Sonya could not help but pray in her heart that Kenshi be successful in protecting his family.

"You're dismissed, Cage," she replied flatly.

It was a confounding, paradoxical revelation, even for her – praying for the security and well-being of another's family, while her own was in the process of imploding. While Sonya _herself_ played an active role in icing out her husband in favour of her work, fracturing their relationship beyond repair. She rationalised it internally, as part of her duty, her responsibility in looking out for her fellow comrades. End of. This had nothing to do with her personal problems with the needy husband who couldn't be bothered to understand the gravity of her work, motherhood or not.

She could feel her husband's glare boring into her being; the Major paid absolutely no heed whatsoever.

"_Fine_, Sonya," Cage then interjected, evidently hurt by her behaviour. "Be that way." With that, he exited the cabin with a resounding bang of the door – for good or bad, Sonya could not and would not immediately discern.

* * *

_Evening_

_Lampang, Thailand_

Suchin sat at the kitchen table, sipping her tea quietly as the last rays of the sun cast long, shadowy silhouettes in the room - mirroring the dark thoughts that haunted her mind in a moment frozen in time. The sky was painted in hues of pink, peach and crimson – overtaken and absorbed slowly by the overarching black night. She welcomed the darkness - she was ready.

Takeda had left with his grandmother several hours ago. Should her worst fears manifest themselves, if the supposed Red Dragon thugs were as dangerous as they come, at least they would have had a head-start on them. She could not bear to think what would happen if they had gotten to her son first - no. She steered away from that line of thought, for her own sanity.

The same darkness, as suspected by Suchin, was refuge for the evil Red Dragon as well. It was not long before the cult's recruits tracked down Suchin at her home.

As a knock thundered on the front door, Suchin paused only briefly – letting out a deep, slow breath. Despite her racing heart, she straightened her shoulders and neatly replaced the tea cup in its saucer. With the air of a proud fighter, she picked up the wakizashi – a short-sword, the only memento of Kenshi she had apart from her memories – and walked to the front door.

It broke down on the inside before she could reach it. Three masked men, heavily armoured and armed with conventional firepower, entered and surrounded her.

Suchin had never felt as calm as she did at that moment.

"You the bitch with Kenshi's bastard?!" a hideous goon barked at her, looking about at her scant, but tasteful household.

Unsheathing the sword, Suchin raised her chin, arched an eyebrow and looked at the man with an unwavering gaze. She was ready.

"I'm the bitch with a blade!"

* * *

**So that's chapter two! Just a quick additional note -** Thanks to **banksaran91** for telling me the correct word for Grandmother in Thai - Kun Yaai. Also - just a hint of what's to come next - if it's anyone who makes Kenshi nervous, it's Suchin's mother (coming up next, or in later chapters) ;)

I understand I could have done more with the Johnny/Sonya scenario, but rest assured, I intend on bringing them back frequently - you will see some more development there. Haven't really written this kind of thing before, so would appreciate any advice on divorces/crumbling marriages!

**As always, thanks very much reading this uber long update. Please, please do let me know what you think of this! Enjoy! :)**


	3. Of Love and Loss III

Hello everyone! Here's the third chapter for the story!

Had this sitting for a while now - I just wanted to make sure this could be as good as possible for me, and also because this nails one of the most important scenes for this little fic - how Kenshi meets his son. I'm really counting on you guys telling me how this was, especially with regards to proper characterisation.

For the next chapter, I'm thinking about introducing Scorpion and/or Sonya in as well. Nothing decided for sure, but you'll all find out soon enough :)

My round of thank yous, of course:

**BrutusSilentium -** Thank you! I hope you enjoy this update too! :)

**banksaran1 -** Thank you for reviewing as well as guiding me on the appropriate word to use! And I love all those characters too - I hope to incorporate some of them in this story - hope you like this! :)

**iceangelmkx -** Thanks a lot! :) And I completely reciprocate all your feelings - not getting a Kenshi chap in the storymode truly did rob us of some much needed character-development for him.. I hope I can do justice to it once I write it out (we should probably take this convo to our PMs since I can write a thousand words specifically for this! =D) but nevertheless thanks a lot for your review :)

Additional thanks to **NamelessFanGirl, himmelblu, RoseScytheElysium, Scytherageroses** and **CloudySmile** for following/favouriting this! Please feel free to let me know that you think of this in reviews as well guys! :)

Before beginning, just to let you know - Dara = Suchin's mother = Kun-Yaai (word for grandmother in Thai - thanks again, banksaran1!)

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing and no one - but I am taking certain liberties with some of the characters portrayed. So yeah :)

* * *

**The Takahashi Family Saga**

**Of Love and Loss**

**III**

* * *

Dara was no stranger to bad days - the kind that rendered her time awake more akin to a day of toil on a battlefield. But never had she expected her entire world to turn in on itself in one fell swoop. All initiated by an untimely knock on the door, in the middle of a stormy night.

She did not know what precisely possessed her to let the swordsman in. It could have been the harsh weather outside, the torrential showers soaking Kenshi wet to the bone – it could have been his sombre expression; the fact that he had silently stood for a good full two minutes as Dara stared him down, before following her in without a word nor greeting once she finally let him in.

But Dara suspected it was intrigue. The last she remembered of the swordsman was seeing him on television years ago, the fateful eve of Shinnok's defeat as he attacked Earthrealm. The headlines had repeatedly confirmed his role in leading the counterattack that eventually subdued the threat, alongside Major Blade and the Johnny Cage – as part of the Special Forces. In the consequent press conference, the actor had basked up the attention, while Kenshi had stood beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable, as always.

Her daughter, Suchin, had been elated – for Kenshi's success validated his departure her eyes. Dara, on the other hand, had remained quiet; viewing the footage with a sense of finality. Takahashi's inner circle, line of work, and his consequent success had only removed him far from the possibility of ever returning to a simple, normal life with Suchin and their son. Dara's daughter was chasing a mirage, and she knew it was too late to save her from the disappointment that lay ahead.

Then what _exactly_ transpired his return on this evil night?

"You have quite the backbone to dare showing your face around here again, Takahashi Kenshi," she began, every syllable dripping with venom, her tone as cold as ice. She cradled a cup of water in her hands, the one the swordsman had waved off as he came to stand in her living room.

As a strict disciplinarian, Dara had most definitely not taken her daughter's infidelity with Takahashi lightly. He had driven a wedge in between the mother and her daughter, unbeknownst of its own permanency once Suchin discovered her pregnancy with the rogue swordsman's child. Dara, then, realised that she had been defeated by the swordsman – that she'd waged war against her own blood in a conflict that had already been trumped by the unrestrained passion of a first, foolish romance. As fate would have it, her heart did soften for her grandson after he was born. But not for his father, no – Suchin's mother held the wayward swordsman personally responsible for her daughter's plight and disgrace. He would receive no redemption, no sympathy from her.

"Dara-" Kenshi began hoarsely, before pausing, short. His heart was torn, his mind all over the place. He knew he should exercise patience at her uncivil tone, give a sensible reply before he broke the news to her. In his mind, he tried to formulate words, but his thoughts practically vanished before he could grab hold of them, or weave them into coherent sentences. Never the one to forge lofty words or wax poetic without cause, Kenshi simply could not find the will to explain anything, let alone tell an old woman about the death of her only child, the love of his life. Kenshi's wretched heart twisted in his chest, but he forcibly clamped down on the emotion. He knew his anguish will follow him like a ghost until he breathed his last, but it had to wait for now, for just these few moments; he had already failed Suchin, he would not fail their son.

"Nine years – no visits, no calls," Dara continued her tirade, unperturbed. "Do you even remember the promises you made to my daughter? You never looked back, never looked to see how Suchin fared! Never realised you sired her child!"

Kenshi steeled himself, gritted his jaw, and raised head directly in the direction of the older woman's glare. It was a familiar tactic for the swordsman – one that now occurred almost naturally to him. Seeing a sightless, blindfolded man regard one as intensely as when holding one's eyes, particularly irked his opponents – as Kenshi was well aware. It was a gaze that was eerily piercing, one that his adversaries rarely ever forgot. Dara was no exception; as goosebumps rose to the fore on her wrinkled, sun-spotted arms, she realised she had forgotten how the mysterious swordsman could make others feel in his presence.

However, what Dara did not understand was that this was not an attempt to intimidate her, but merely an artifice – a show of false bravado as he tried to instill in himself a sense of calm, amidst a roaring, raging storm of emotions that continuously shrouded his thinking.

"Why have you come back now, Takahashi?" the older woman shot angrily. "What is the meaning of all this?!"

"The times are dire, indeed, Dara," began the swordsman, warily. Beneath his blindfold, he had his eyes shut tightly, his forehead creased as he fought to maintain composure. "I'm aware we have our differences, but I'm afraid you have no choice but to abide me, for now."

The older woman fumed, but surprisingly said nothing. Kenshi thought it best to be out with the news before Suchin's mother wasted more time berating him.

"Suchin, is dead. And- my son's life is in grave danger."

A period of silence ensued, falling and crashing in deafening waves onto the swordsman's ears – his own voice alienating him; the very words he spoke sounding like some vile, fantastical delusion that had no place in reality.

'_It is real. For the love of god, get a hold of yourself – you have a son to protect!'_ the swordsman tried to beat some sense into himself.

He heard the crash of a ceramic hitting the floor – the cup of water he surmised – as the older woman let out a shaky cry, breaking the silence that was becoming too painful to sustain itself. The swordsman took a step forward, but felt the surge of anger and despair emanating from the woman. He had no need to read her mind, Kenshi knew he could not bear to witness the agony of a mother, as her mind was ripped apart in a single, maddening moment - he had his own burdens to bear anyway. In his vague spiritual vision, he could see her silhouette, holding up an arm, warding him off. Kenshi bowed his head, and reluctantly complied at first.

"Suchin! This can't be – No. Suchin? God, no, noo …" Dara whispered, whimpering as she covered her face with trembling hands, falling in a heap onto a rickety, old armchair – sending forth a combination of creaks which disturbed the swordsman's hearing. Kenshi ignored her earlier warning and crouched beside her form as she was seated on her armchair.

"Dara, calm yourself, please," murmured Kenshi, wishing he could be more eloquent than that.

"You scoundrel!" Dara hissed bitterly. "You swore you'd protect her! You're lying – I don't believe it! You have to be lying!" Dara screamed, pushing the swordsman away, too grief-stricken to register any of his utterances. Kenshi steadied himself on his haunches, but did not leave her side; inhaling sharply, even impatiently as he took in her words.

A moment later, something within the swordsman snapped. He could not discern whether he lost his veneer of composure, his patience or altogether his sense of prudence and all manner of rationality. Uncharacteristically – as Kenshi would never harm a woman if he could help it - he grabbed Dara by the shoulders and shook her hard, until she looked his way.

"Suchin was all that dear to me in this godforsaken world, Dara," he growled, masking the same poignant sentiments mirrored in the older woman; it took him all of his will-power, decades' worth of patience to muster the strength to merely connect one discordant word to another, and continue this conversation. "I would have gladly killed myself before uttering these words..."

The woman only wept in response – a remorseful, silent cry manifesting itself from a pain that simply ran too deep for words. The silence in between, the muted sobs and smothered sighs of the bereaved mother, all agitated Kenshi – as he felt himself toeing an invisible line, where his sense of duty collided with a crippling yearning to join the woman in her grief over the death of the mutually beloved.

The warrior denied himself the opportunity. Too much was at stake for now – he had a lifetime ahead of him to mourn his loss. Kenshi decided to continue speaking, realising very well that while his words may as well be falling on deaf ears, he still needed to voice them out, for his own sanity.

"A radical cult-criminal organisation, by the name of Red Dragon, are the perpetrators. Suchin sent our child to you, to ensure his safety," Kenshi spoke lowly enough for the older woman to hear, but not for the boy, whom he had heard crouch and put an ear to the closed door beyond the living room. Although alerted to his son's presence, Kenshi hid it well. "We can't have the boy know of this right now-"

"But-why? She was just a factory worker—" Dara broke her silence as her eyes glazed over and a stream of tears stretched their way across her cheeks.

"It's all dark, murky business, Dara. A ploy to get to me, and the Special Forces. The people involved are extremely dangerous – which is why I need you to listen to me very carefully, for your grandson's sake. Please," Kenshi continued, clasping the older woman's hand to convey his urgency.

Dara looked up at the blind swordsman's hand, then at Kenshi himself. Nearly a decade ago, he had had walked into their lives as a dauntless young man – a tad too sure of himself, too witty for his own good. Handicapped, but disarmingly handsome - his skill, strength, mysterious ways and his importance to the SF had struck respect into the hearts of all the villagers. While Dara had some regard for the perilous nature of his work, she had little sympathy for his suspect person.

Yet here he was – the damned man, now on his knees, matured further by years of isolation, his expression a façade of bravery he visibly laboured to maintain; grieving in his own convoluted, silent way.

It was one thing to demonise him for ruining her daughter's life in his absence, but quite another to outright accuse him of never reciprocating any of her feelings. Nevertheless, she was far from comfortable, and most definitely not in the right frame of mind to let the swordsman know of her thawing heart, just yet.

It hardly mattered a bit now - to her, all was lost.

Dara drew in a long breath, compelling her confused mind to think of her grandson, only her grandson now, if only for the next few minutes, at least. "You did not just come here to tell me this, Kenshi…"

The swordsman morosely nodded. "I've come to collect my son, Dara," Kenshi answered, steadily.

"I think not!" the protective grandmother cried, indignantly. "He barely knows you, I can't lose Takeda too!"

"Dara, the situation is critical; I won't have him, or you become the target of any further attacks," the swordsman replied, tone matter-of-fact, as he craned his neck up to face Dara once more "It is imperative that he remain in my care from here onward."

It crushed her to admit the fact that he was absolutely right. In her late fifties, Dara was barely adept at maintaining her household, let alone fighting any cult-worshippers; neither had she the means to ensure her grandson's protection should anything happen to her. Kenshi was strong, agile, and despite his stubbornness and handicap, intelligent – with the additional support of the right people within the SF ranks. He was undoubtedly more capable than herself - she would have to comply by the telepath's demands. He had defeated her once more.

Dara's bottom lip quivered, but she nodded in reply, as Kenshi let go of her hands, and stood up.

"I have some papers, here – new ID, documentation – there are two SF agents outside the house presently. After I leave, they will accompany you to Bangkok-"

"I'm not going anywhere, Takahashi Kenshi!"

"—It's for your own safety, Dara. Please!" Kenshi responded, exasperated. "There is no time to argue, you have to trust me on this."

Trust. Kenshi felt distinctly uncomfortable as he voiced the words himself. Who was he to trust anything to anyone? In a blink of an eye, the woman in front of him lost all meaning to her existence, and now he was asking her to trust _him_ as he took away the last semblance of family she had ever left.

'_All be damned – he's my family too.' _The thought of leaving his son in the midst of all this sparked a fury in him that he had never experienced before. It would have shocked him, had he not sought refuge in the numbness that was threatening to consume him.

Dara did not argue any further. She simply wiped her tears, sighed deeply and went to fetch her grandson.

"He doesn't need to know, yet," Kenshi called out to the woman. He stood facing away from her, clutching the back of the armchair where Dara was seated only moments ago, the other arm folded at the back of his waist.

"Takeda is young, but not stupid, Kenshi. You should be honest with him," returned Dara, quietly.

"I know what should be done!" the swordsman snarled, fiercely - as another flash of futile anger ravaged through his being.

Dara could not muster the strength to rebuke him. All the fight had disappeared from her, as if the entire world had came crashing down on her shoulders. She suddenly felt exhausted – too tired to even _think_ of all that had unfolded. It seemed so much easier to merely follow in with the motions and let the creeping numbness eat away at her soul.

She did not have to go too far. As Kenshi had suspected, the young boy was attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation from behind the closed door, unbeknownst to Dara. She found the boy scrambling to stand up as she opened the door.

"Child, come here," beckoned the grandmother softly to the boy.

* * *

Takeda entered the room slowly, glancing warily at the back side of the stranger as he stood beside Kun-Yaai's armchair. He knew he had no place there, he should have been asleep long ago, but he had missed his grandmother's warmth beside him as he slept; and had thus wandered downstairs to see what kept her.

The man was tall, rendered even more so by his perfectly upright posture - armoured, bearing a katana, whilst sporting a red bandanna. Normally, his grandmother would scold young Takeda for not greeting the older man promptly - or for being out of bed in the dead of night, but not now. To the young boy, Dara looked paler, her eyes teary and her grip on Takeda's shoulder a tad stronger than usual.

The older man, as if on cue, whipped about to face the boy. He wore a white sash, with a roaring red dragon on it, which contrasted with his dark armour. Takeda surmised him to be a warrior of some clan; he could even be the ones who battle the evil oni of Outworld, just like in his mother's stories!

But the most astounding feature of the swordsman was the position of his bandanna – as it covered his eyes.

_A blindfold?!_

Takeda's eyes widened, his cerulean irises glistening under the moonlight, as his heart skipped a beat.

'_Is he – could he be…' _even in his mind, Takeda could not bring himself to even say the words to himself. Klahan's snide bullying, his mother's words, this blindfolded stranger – Takeda was thoroughly perplexed, unsure of how to process everything. He could not believe it – how could it be, how could his father appear out of the blue, after all these years. Where was he when his mother laboured night and day to support her family? What has happened? What was going on? Merely thinking about it all gave him a headache.

"Are you… Are you blind?" Takeda blurted out before he could stop himself, biting down on his lip. Takeda would have slapped himself, if his grandmother did not beat him to it. He blushed deeply, yet found himself too dumbfounded to muster an apology.

He was now absolutely sure his grandmother would scold him harshly in front of the stranger for asking such a brazen question - it remained his only fear. For peculiarly enough, as daunting as the swordsman appeared, he did not frighten Takeda the slightest - it almost seemed as if one of the images of warriors that the boy had conjured in his fantasies, had perhaps come to life.

But the swordsman was no conjuration. He walked over to the boy in a few long strides, his footfall echoing in the silent room. Kenshi then crouched until he came to his level, and held the boy's shoulders lightly, affectionately. The act puzzled Takeda even further - he fought the urge to shrug off the man's advances, instead he found himself oddly vulnerable; as if _exposed_ in some unfathomable way to the silent, blindfolded stranger.

The man's gloved hands slowly moved up to Takeda's face, as Kenshi turned his own sideways, knitting his brows in concentration. With feather-light movements, the swordsman traced the curve of the boy's cheek, the bridge of the nose as it connected to the brow-bone, and the chin – before he placed a large hand over Takeda's chest, right over a heart thundering within the confines of a delicate rib-cage.

'_My boy…my son… where do I even begin?' _Kenshi felt tears pricking his eyes from underneath the blindfold, his mouth parted to utter something - anything - but to no avail.

Takeda gasped lightly, not from the intimacy of the touch, but because it was all the confirmation he needed to ensure the identity of the man before her. _'He's your father, he will recognise you – he'll feel it in here, and that's how he'll know.'_ His mother's voice rang in his ears – and he instantly recognised the tenderness of the touch as rooted in paternal sentiments. Takeda looked up from the gloved hand, and took in the profile of its owner before him – only to have him immediately turn his face and stare – or so Takeda thought – directly into Takeda's face, his lips upturned into a faint, lopsided smile.

The entire scene could not have lasted more than a minute, but for both Takeda and Kenshi, an entire eternity had unfolded in those small moments.

Takeda continued searching the swordsman's face for answers, or any acknowledgement that he heard his previous question or not. _'He's … It can't be… Mother only mentioned his blindness… No, no - he's definitely angry at me, I must have offended him! Why did I ask such a stupid question, anyway? What else do I say to him now?'_ Takeda mentally berated himself, before jumping out of his skin when the man before him finally spoke.

"No - I'm not angry… my son."

* * *

Too cheesy? Too OOC? The only reason I delayed posting this was because of these fears, and I would really appreciate you guys telling me if this was too off-character for Kenshi. I have taken certain liberties with Dara and Takeda, but if you feel a mother learning of the death of her daughter and a son seeing his father for the first time were too uncharacteristic was too unnatural, then please do let me know as well - I want this fic to be realistic so would love your feedback on especially this. Thanks for reading! :)


	4. Of Love and Loss IV

Hello everyone! Sorry for the long break - I had a slow start on this chapter because I've been drowning in coursework yet again (3 exams next week, lawl). But I have at least one major development done with this chapter - how Kenshi aided Hanzo in overcoming Scorpion - yayy! :D

Anyhow, you will find this chapter to be extremely heavy on the philosophy. I did not deliberately delineate some concepts, primarily because (1) some of these are highly, highly subjective, and open to interpretation; (2) the chapter was simply getting way too long; and finally (3) I highly doubt Kenshi or Scorpion would sit around discussing these concepts in great detail over a cup of tea. It just seemed OOC to me. Nevertheless, I took inspiration from some Hegel (the master-slave dialectic), and tried to mesh it with the translations of South Asian Sufi poetry/songs I've read and heard (If you want to know more, you can google the translation 'Bulleya' by the subcontinent Sufi saint, Bulleh Shah - parts of which directly inspired this).

I've taken great liberties with the dialogue, and have used whatever snippets of information that were available in the MKX comics (which weren't that many, to begin with - only the first and tenth issues cover this in any substantial way) to make sense of this. But the point of all this rambling is - if you feel anything just feels off, or you feel could be done better, do let me know via reviews or PMs :)

As always, my round of thank-yous :)

**BrutusSilentium:** Thanks again! I'm glad you liked it, hope you enjoy this one too :)

**The Dragon's Kuniochi: **Thanks so much for the review! I'm glad you liked it - and don't worry, we'll see some (hopefully) meaningful Kenshi-Takeda interactions before he finally drops him off at the Shirai Ryu. Hope you like this update too! :)

**iceangelmkx:** I'm sure we would be, and I will definitely get in touch with you soon! :) Also, the similarity in dialogue was deliberate (to make Kenshi suffer later bwahah :P) Your reviews mean a lot to me; thanks for reading, as always!

**RoseScytheElysium:** I'm so happy to hear from you! :) Glad to see you're enjoying the updates, hope you enjoy this too! :)

**Bring Me the cake: **First of all, let me just say your username is literally the story of my life xD (cake-a-holic here! :P) Seeing how I've (unconsciously) taken more of a chronological approach to this, you might have to wait for a little while before we get to the older Takeda. But I will most definitely write at length about him, so I hope you look forward to that. Thanks for reading! :)

Additional thanks to **Fic131, The Dragon's Kuniochi, Fantasysword92375, PurpleFlowerBerry, Poe's Daughter** and **Bring Me the Cake** for favouriting and following this story. I truly appreciate you guys taking out time to read this - thanks again! :)

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing and no one.**

**Additional Note:** This chapter is very heavy on flashbacks, some of which are not separated from the 'present' time text. To make things a bit clearer, I've written all flashbacks in italics, and all normal fonted text takes place in the present day :)

* * *

**The Takahashi Family Saga**

**Of Love and Loss**

**IV**

* * *

_Unknown Location_

_Near Mount Godwin-Austen,_

_Sino-Pakistan border, Western Himalayas._

_March, 1999_

Hanzo folded his arms behind his back, as he stood from the balcony of his quarters, overlooking the young survivors he had taken under his wing. The Shirai Ryu was ordained to be reborn, under his questionable auspices, in this secluded region in the world. The location had particularly pleased the grandmaster – the majestic grace of the deep conifers meshed beautifully with sheer deadliness of the killer mountain peaks that surrounded it; reflecting the core of the order of the Shirai Ryu.

As if replying to Hanzo's musings, a cold mountain breeze ruffled the endless sea of dark green coniferous leaves, the towering trees dancing in its wake, embracing the bitter-coldness of the gust. Hanzo nodded to the winds, yet turned his gaze towards the towering, ice-capped mountains. The cold was welcome to his face, the captivating mountain scenery eased the fire within him, even if for a bit.

_That_ fire.

It had been years since Hanzo had drowned himself in Scorpion's flames; as much as he tried, the demon still continued in its vile ways, whispering seductively of revenge to his labouring soul, begging him to forsake this clan, to satisfy his bloodlust. The same bloodlust, that had crept into his thoughts and become more sacred to him than anything he had ever known – until a certain stranger had revealed to him it's true nature, beseeching the wraith to throw it off like one would a mantle, for that was what it was in its entirety – a refuge for the ignorant slave.

Every day was a day of struggle for Hanzo. Yet he had embraced this struggle, knowing that the mere act of him trying to subdue Scorpion was in itself, a bid to salvage, perhaps even reclaim some of his humanity.

_'... you are neither of fire, nor are you borne out of air, nor the wind, nor the thunder. These are not your burdens...' _

The wind picked up, its sound bringing back the whispering memories of a night long, long ago – to that moment where Hanzo had found himself on his knees, his blade ready to take his own life. They had been near the Tibetan plateau, near the dead woods; Kenshi had been making his way toward the SF portal situated in the region during that time, probably for one of his Outworld missions. Had it not been for the enlightened swordsman initiating the conversation, the deed would have been done long ago.

It had taken him a while before he recalled where he had seen Kenshi before, let alone knowing his name. His impairment was perhaps his only identifying feature – Scorpion remembered fighting him in Earthrealm once, during Shinnok's invasion – a useless memory, not even worth the effort to recall it. The complete opposite of that single, unremarkable night in the deadly woods, however; where Scorpion had been defeated, his alias invalidated.

Hanzo had, inadvertently, ended up owing the swordsman a favour which he had no way of repaying.

'_Ahh… the conceited wraith.'_

'_Leave me be, sightless one.'_

'_Name's Takahashi Kenshi, Hanzo.'_

'_Hanzo is dead. And I don't care much for names.'_

'_Pity, you should. And especially so; given how you continue to defraud a man named Hanzo of his true nature. Even at this moment, as you kneel, to take your own life…'_

Names.

Hanzo shook his head as Kenshi's words came back to him. The swordsman had been right – Scorpion was an entity that had taken over Hanzo. Scorpion had been the manifestations of anger, rage, fury and tragedy – whilst Hanzo Hasashi had encompassed that, yet so much more. It was these very names that provided legitimacy to one's existence; providing the impetus for growth and development. All that Scorpion had borne was fury and bloodshed, fueled by Quan Chi's false promises – all but destroying Hanzo in the process.

It was a conscious effort, taxing on the soul, his entire existence being relegated to that of a balancing weight – wavering in between the demon's whisperings, and the need to push on, to carve out and make an existence that was not centered on Hanzo's self. Yet there had been no way of saying it better than how Kenshi had said it. It was a line that was barely discernable, where Hanzo's anguish ended and Scorpion's avarice began. And Scorpion had ruled over Hanzo's existence unfettered for far too long.

_'What use is a blind man than to mull over mere names? Be gone, Takahashi!'_

'_This is Special Forces territory – rendering you the trespasser. But I will humour you – care to share what purpose your suicide would serve?'_

'_Did you not hear me, Takahashi?'_

'_Redemption? Penance? Or the ever elusive illusion of 'freedom'? Pray tell, Hasashi, which of these do you seek? Or do you prefer Scorpion, since there is barely any difference in between the two presently.'_

_The swordsman had stood with a muscle rippling in his tight jaw; arms crossed, the tails of his blindfold fluttering serenely behind his rigid form. His tone rang incessantly Hanzo's ears; coy, condescending, even scolding, but not particularly cold._

'_Why do you speak in riddles, swordsman?'_

'_This is no riddle. Scorpion uses vengeance to aggrandize himself – the chaos, blood and terror that follow in its wake merely exemplify his own might over all those he deems have wronged him. But you, Hanzo…'_

'_You dare label the injustice against my family as mere self-aggrandizement?!' _

'_I dare challenge you to prove to me that Scorpion is not guilty of manifesting itself at Hanzo's expense.'_

'_I just told you, Hanzo is dead! Hanzo died the night the Lin Kuei massacred the Shirai Ryu! While Scorpion remains a withered, burning husk I left behind in the Netherrealm… As for me - I am torn; stuck in this maddening perpetual limbo where I cannot see, nor name myself – yet have the blood of countless people on my hands who did me no harm! What else but death can atone for the damage that fell by my hand?'_

_On the damned night when he'd lost it all, he had prayed to the fire to not burn his clan, his family – but it had not heeded him. Instead, it had manifested its destructive force in his being – transforming him into a wraith, worthy only of unquestioning service. It had burned his family, then it had burned him – and now, if he did not stop himself, it would erase him from existence entirely._

_Kenshi had shaken his head almost sadly._

'_If it's still about you; if your actions, your justifications and your needs are still at the centre of all this, of all your existence - then you remain Scorpion despite being restored to humanity, Hanzo.'_

'_Do not spite me, Kenshi!'_

'_You permitted the murdering wraith to defile the name, clan and family of Hanzo Hasashi – all under the guise of justice and retribution. You, your soul burned with hellfire, only because you could not face yourself.'_

_Scorpion had paused. He had not understood the words, nor did he wish to reply to them. But they were strangely compelling – inviting in critical thoughts and insights, from his conscience, a voice that Scorpion thought he had silenced long ago._

_Hanzo's voice._

_'No, Hanzo. Your rage, the hellfire you command, the flames that burn your heart are not your sum total. You dedicated your life worshiping your shame, your failure and your suffering to the extent that you've forgotten what it once stood for, what it once encapsulated. And because the flames rendered you strong in your pain and torment, you let them consume you, corrupt you in all your capacities; incinerating the embers of what was once a noble Shirai Ryu warrior.'_

'_I cannot revive Hanzo, Takahashi Kenshi. As much as I try, he-'_

'_You __**are**__ Hanzo; you think you've suppressed him, but he lives and breathes inside of you. You just do not acknowledge him. You cannot recognise him…' _

'_What do you mean?'_

_The swordsman then became quiet, his forehead creasing with concentration. A heavy silence had hung in between the two, frustrating Hanzo as he pursued further: 'Why are you telling me all this? What's your intention?'_

_Kenshi nodded to himself, before speaking slowly. 'It's a strange, yet striking dialectic, Hanzo – a lesson I learnt at a cost that I have no means of ever redeeming…' With that, he raised his neck so that he faced the dark sky – the gentle snow falling onto his face, colouring his black hair with specks of white, as he inhaled deeply. _

_Hanzo had gotten the message – he was talking about his blindness, but he had remained confused. Unlike him, Kenshi was a man at peace. He did not have to suffer the torment of seeing his lineage burn, the silent screams of his family as they were frozen solid in a sheet of ice – their fragile faces contorted into permanent masks of horror; of being used as a pawn in a devilish game where blood flowed by his hand, of who – Scorpion never wondered, nor cared. The seething, raging monster crawling right underneath his skin…_

_How can this blinded warrior possibly talk about recognition when he himself was a holistic being, without any conflicting personas that threatened to ravage through all semblances of humanity?_

_'You're wrong, Hanzo. I have my troubles too. Having a multitude of ancient people talking in your head can't be all that good for one's mental health.' The swordsman tapped two fingers to his temple, smiling a lop-sided grin at his own self-deprecating humour. 'I do concur though, the Takahashi lineage had its share of thinkers – they impart wisdom which I most definitely could not have attained all by myself.'_

'_I doubt the aim of this conversation is to celebrate philosophy, Kenshi. I am certainly not amused.'_

'_You shouldn't be, it's not about you anyway. That is the point.' _

_The swordsman had tilted his head, the blindfolded gaze fixed eerily on him, mouth downturned in a sudden solemn frown. _

'_As I said, it's a conflictual idea at its core, but it applies to us; to warriors like you and I. Hanzo, our agency is fundamentally flawed, and constitutes the basis of our fall; it blinds us to the plight of others whilst exemplifying one's sufferings as the only grievances in existence. Our goals, our ambitions, our righteousness and our honour possesses us – and eventually, defeats us.'_

'_I spoke of recognition, a few moments ago. The question is certainly logical - how can you really recognise yourself in this vicious cycle of unending self-love and self-defeat?' Kenshi paused briefly, before continuing: 'I won't give a definitive answer, because I don't have one. But I have realised thus far, that eliminating the self is the first step. Self-negation. Deny yourself the pleasure of being wronged, of being guilty, of being the victim. Deprive the fire of its fuel, and it will cease to burn...'_

'_There is no reprieve from this curse, Kenshi. You clearly do not understand-'_

_'There's always a choice, Hanzo. Disallow the self to revel in its desires, and its darkness. And maybe… you too, could find the strength to forgive the vessel that carries you. To bury your pain, your shame, your loss. And in time, reclaim, rebuild what was once taken wrongly from you. You may have told yourself that you are beyond that, but that is where the self betrays you. Because it wallows and feeds off of the strength of your rage, annihilating you in the process.' _

_The blade had slipped from Hanzo's grip, falling in a nondescript thud on the snowy ground. And for the first time in many, many years the notorious Scorpion simply could not will himself to beckon the hellfire flames to destroy the man before him. From that time up to now, the grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu had not recalled those flames._

_The swordsman had then crouched next to Hanzo's kneeling form, placing both hands on his shoulders, as the latter continued to stare at the ground underneath him. Kenshi's voice was soft, comforting – faintly reminding Hanzo of Kana's warmth, in the corner of his mind. Yet at the same time, it was unwavering and firm in its convictions – reflecting the aura of the warrior he undoubtedly was._

_It had been long, indeed, since Hanzo had been the subject to such unwarranted, unsolicited kindness, in any form. He was not quite sure he deserved it._

_'You said you cannot name yourself, yes? It does not matter. For you are neither of fire, nor are you borne out of air, nor the wind, nor the thunder. These are not your burdens to carry, Hanzo - you are but a man. Once you learn to live with your fallibility, you will find it easier to battle the demon Scorpion that resides in you. And this struggle, Hanzo, will define you - and possibly even free you…'_

_The wind picked up, letting out a howl that mirrored the internal turmoil of the broken spectre; yet it was the only sound breaking the silence of those tense moments. Hanzo was too entranced by the swordsman's words to think of a rebuttal._

'_The decision to undertake this effort, however, is yours alone to make, irrespective of how you see yourself...' The swordsman's grip on Hanzo's shoulders tightened reassuringly, before he finally stood up. _

'_I will take my leave now, Hanzo. Choose wisely…' And after a long moment, Kenshi turned on his heels, and walked away._

_Several long moments of deafening silence passed. Until Hanzo gave up, and cried out, desperation lacing his tone: 'It's not as easy as you make it sound, swordsman!'_

_Kenshi had paused in his tracks, but did not turn back. 'It never is, my friend. It never is...'_

* * *

A decision had thus been duly made. Hanzo had stared at the receding figure of the swordsman, as the dark woods swallowed up his silhouette – without as much as a single glance back. The snow had continued to fall unperturbed, the chill in the wind had gotten worse – and in the depths of the night, many a predator prowled in the woods, hunting for prey.

Nature continued to take its course, as it had done for countless millennia, and would continue to do so. In the early hours of dawn, as the sun's rays broke in through the darkness of the dead woods, Hanzo's mind too cleared, as he found a strange, familiar new strength to subdue the creeping call of Scorpion. He had, instead, fantasized for the first time in an eternity, about the Shirai Ryu. In his mind, he had dared to defy the dark towers of rage by building a pristine temple, as the one of his clan in its midst. The idea had slowly, but surely began to chip away at the black – as Hanzo envisioned himself, layering brick by brick to rebuild the Shirai Ryu. By the time the sun had risen well over the horizon, he could see before his very eyes, the reincarnation of the Shirai Ryu – the absolution of his past.

He would deny himself, he would reduce himself to a conduit; his trainees and students would take the centre-stage in his life. Maybe they could share in on his suffering, maybe he could share in on theirs. It was possible. Hope might have been a misleading delusion to him once, but once the dawn broke after the night of icy stillness, Hanzo would not allow his one glimmer of chance of clemency slip away from his hands. Not again.

It was possible that the swordsman's insight was wrong, but his words haunted Hanzo, and he could not muster any justification, rationale or complaint to counter them, no matter how hard he tried.

'_No.'_

His struggle against the hell-fire would define him. He had deemed himself to be one with the fire, a false premonition had become his modus operandi. But now, he would fight against it. The slave would challenge the master, the man Hanzo Hasashi would counter Scorpion in all his manifestations. He may fall, he may falter, but he would not be defeated. It will be ordained - the slave will overcome the master, for the nature of the master was all the more clear to him – Scorpion and his hellfire only had mastery over Hanzo, because the latter lent them control over himself. Who, or what Hanzo was now – it did not matter. It did not matter if he had no name, his struggle would be his recognition; it would be his identity.

Eventually, the swordsman's prophecy fulfilled itself.

"Grandmaster Hasashi!"

Scorpion snapped out of his thoughts, as he felt the words echo in the vastness of the vale. He directed his gaze downwards to his dojo, and saw Forrest Fox bow deeply at him. Hanzo nodded his reply, folded his hands behind his back and walked towards him.

Semantics, categorisations and titles never concerned Hanzo. He was, and will remain Grandmaster Hasashi Hanzo of the newest incarnation of the Shirai Ryu, protectors of the Earthrealm.

He had found the path that could, if he maintained his control, serve as his means of salvation.

* * *

_Outskirts of Bangkok,_

_March 1999._

The dead of the night had passed, and with it, Kenshi hoped, the danger that had plagued his family, and claimed the life of his child's mother.

They were in a special convoy, en-route to an SF base right outside of Bangkok. The Red Dragon had not been tailing them as of yet. The task ahead was simpler now; lay low as they made their way back to Japan. Kenshi had not thought about the details – what would become of the child, how he would continue his line of work with the SF, what schooling or training would he require, or how he would break the news of his mother's death to him...

The child clutched his order's sash and the holster-strap for his katana's sheath in a surprisingly strong grip – yet he slept deeply, perhaps even peacefully in Kenshi's arms, his forehead nestled snugly against the crook of Kenshi's neck and collarbone – as naturally as if he had done so thousands of times.

Kenshi realised the significance, the gravity of this simple act. His son had been cautious, and the swordsman had, more for the sake of his own defense, shadowed his mind throughout, witnessing the gut-wrenchingly innocent reaction of the boy; his confusion, his wariness his fascination, and the starkly clear lack of trust. But ultimately, he had heeded his mother's words, taken a blind leap of faith and trusted in this stranger of a father, one who now felt he would veritably _die_ if the child were to ever be removed from his bosom.

The swordsman, thus had, perhaps an even tighter grip on young Takeda, as he recalled the conversation from a few hours ago.

'_I…How did you…'_

'_My name - is Takahashi Kenshi, little one. What is yours?'_

_Kenshi had known his name. Kenshi had whispered his, and his mother's name to a point of trance when he was running to their rescue. But he needed to hear it from him, to gauge the boy's reaction._

_'T-Takahashi Takeda…'_

_Kenshi smiled at his son. A tear spilled from his eye, staining the side of his blindfold instead of rolling down his face. The swordsman felt himself quivering inside._

'_D-did your mother tell you about me, son?'_

'_Maybe…' Takeda bit his lip. The boy definitely had some of Suchin's mannerisms, and alertness. A good trait. 'Why-have … Khun-K-Kenshi, why have you… will you stay-?' The boy's voice broke._

_As did Kenshi's veneer of composure. _

_In a single, smooth movement, he took the boy into his arms, wordlessly. Takeda became rigid for a second, but quickly gave in to the swordsman's embrace. He merely put his head onto his father's shoulder, his breath tickling his ear lightly, while his hands clutched his collar. Takeda tried to suppress his sobs, but the sounds indelibly engraved themselves Kenshi's mind. Before he could clamp down on it, a shaky, breathless gasp escaped his own throat, but Kenshi's grip grew tighter as he turned his head to place a small kiss on his son's temple... _

Kenshi had registered the wetness of his blindfold in some corner of his mind, where a few hot tears had escaped his eyes as he held his son for the first time. He had noted the insults and abuses that ran in his son's mind, as the boy recalled the incessant bullying instances; his absent father had rendering him a cruel plaything in school. But for the blind swordsman, in that moment – it was as if all had ceased to exist… His awry nerves, his nightmares, the murder, his failure, his debilitating exhaustion – the entire universe had evaporated into misty nothingness. All that remained were him and his son – bound irrevocably, permanently by the ties of blood.

'_I can't even - My world just exploded in technicolour, Ken! There's no other way to describe it!'_

As the vehicle rocked back and forth, Kenshi recalled with a wry smile how Johnny recounted the birth of his daughter, just as the swordsman had duly called to congratulate the couple. The actor was right, there was no other way of framing such an event. This little boy, now sleeping on his shoulder, with the strong jaw, straight nose and his mother's full mouth…

What good had the lone, rugged swordsman possibly ever done in all his life, to deserve something as beautiful and precious as this?

"Kenshi-san. Major Blade is on the line," said Sergeant Pierre, as he handed a wireless comm link to the swordsman. Snapping out from his thoughts, Kenshi mentally prepared himself, and nodded to dismiss the SF soldier.

"Takahashi Kenshi here, Major Blade."

"Kenshi! Report on your and your son's status."

"He's fine, only tired – currently sleeping on my shoulder like a young babe." Kenshi deliberately evaded talking about himself at that point in time. He found such military protocol to be particularly evasive and inherently ineffectual, and thereby had no regard for it. Thankfully enough, his peers at the SF understood his disdain for such rigid codes of conduct, and tolerated his waywardness.

"That's a relief. Now tell me in detail what happened."

"It was… I was too late to save Suchin.. Gun-shot wound in the chest," the swordsman muttered gravely; intensely aware of the sleeping child, as he simultaneously read him telepathically to assure he was not listening in. "Three Red Dragon members – all she had was an old blade I'd lent her God-knows-when…"

Kenshi felt his fatherly sentiments of moments ago, give way to a crippling sense of rage that shook him to his core. He could not get the stench of death out of his mind, as it mixed in with Suchin's scent. In his mind's eye, all he saw were blood and flames; he found himself at a brink, staring in the face of a deep, black abyss.

'_Not now, Kenshi. Pull yourself back. For Takeda's sake.'_

"It was a bloody mess; she'd killed those bastards by herself, before one of them shot her."

"I'm truly sorry for your loss, Kenshi," Sonya sounded genuinely aggrieved. But the futility of the effort to appear civil merely annoyed the hardened swordsman, but he still appreciated her concern.

"You and I both know such lip-service neither accomplishes, nor means a thing to me, Sonya. No need to bother with the niceties," he sighed tiredly.

"I hear you, soldier," the Major knew soldiers and warriors alike dealt with loss by taking up a utilitarian approach. It was a common defense mechanism – get the job done, wallow in your grief and self-loathing later. But Sonya was still concerned for her ally. "What is your plan now?"

"I'm returning to Japan. Clear my mind a little. And then I'll think about what should be done."

"What about the boy?"

"What about him?" Kenshi asked, taken aback by the question.

"I can tell you firsthand that family can compromise with your work-"

"The boy stays with me. End of discussion, Major Blade," growled Kenshi, angrily.

Sonya inhaled sharply, but did not offer a reply to his words.

"You know I asked with his safety in mind. I understand if now's not a good time. Regardless, the SF will escort you. Do contact me again when you reach Japan safely. Over and out."

Kenshi nodded his reply, and disconnected the comm link.

Indeed. That much was clear to him. He was not giving up his son. Not now, not again.

* * *

**Woah! That was one dense read (Kudos for making through this! :) ). So now that you've read it all, if you feel any confusions, or if you think I need to expand on something a bit more, given the complexities of Scorpion as a character and the concepts Kenshi's trying to highlight, then please let me know asap. As always, thanks for reading - please review and let me know what you think of this. Enjoy! :)**


	5. Of Trials and Tribulations I

Hello everyone! I'm back again, and this time - with a **Father's Day Special**! :D *well, sort of.. I think :P * Irrespective, I hope you all enjoy this day to the fullest. :)

Anyhow, before I begin, just a bit of housekeeping first. I decided to edit the titles of the earlier chapters, so that they can constitute an 'arc' in this story, as opposed to being strictly chronological. I guess it just seems appropriate to have such titles, and in a way it helps in pacing the story as well - I guess this will become more relevant later on. In line with this, the previous 4 chapters have now been labeled as part of the first arc, **'Of Love and Loss' **(cheesy, I know - but it just.. fits! xD)

For now - this fifth chapter that marks the beginning of a new arc, which I've titled **'Of Trials and Tribulations'** (that should give a hint of what's to come in the next 2-3 chapters :) )

Not that's anything substantial, but just letting you all know:)

Now that's out of the way.. My round of thank-yous! :)

**BrutusSilentium** - No, my friend - you didn't specify before, but I'm certainly glad you think so! :D The Scorpion-Hanzo-Grandmaster trichotomy was fascinating for me to explore and write about, and I will most definitely revisit this again in the fic as well. Thanks soo much for the review! :D

**Poe's Daughter -** Let me first say your review truly and utterly brightened a rough-ish day for me when I first read it :) The fact that this fic got me such praise from a writer like you - I am truly humbled. Thank you soo much! :'D I understand Takeda seems a bit demure as of now, but I have set up some stuff ahead which will really bring out his spirited/excitable side.. As far as Dara and Suchin are concerned, I'm glad you took them like that, because that was precisely the image I wanted to paint for both of these. Even for Kenshi, but I'm gonna play around a bit with his feelings - I hope you enjoy this update as well! Thanks again 3

**PunkRoseBlitz -** Thanks very much for taking out time to read this! :D And I totally second that, Kenshi didn't get the love he deserved in the storymode, but that's what we Fanfic writers are here for, right? ;) I hope you like this too, thanks again! :)

**icenagelmkx - ** I'm glad you enjoyed the Scorpion/Hanzo bit, I was a bit nervous writing it out, given how Scorps is practically the poster boy for MK. And I honestly felt the same, I was literally sure they would expand on the Hanzo/Kenshi bond in the game, and was actually quite furious they left it out. As for Kenshi, I'm delighted you feel that way - but unfortunately, Kenshi will suffer quite a bit at my hands in this fic.. I always pictured him as a tragic hero, you'll hopefully see that come to fruition as the story proceeds. As always, thank you soo much for making my day with the review! :D

**Hell-on-Training-Wheels - **Ohh, don't you worry about that, buddy! :) Your comments are truly very heart-warming, and uplifting - as I try and learn from the action/horror sequences that you wonderfully write! :) Thanks soo much for liking this story, I hope you enjoy this update as well! :)

Additional thank yous to all those who favourited and followed this:** KimikoElenda, PunkRoseBlitz, YOMI RM JagoBlake, SurgicalAssassin, Hell-On-Training-Wheels, GetCaged **and** Minarvia.** Thanks guys, and please do let me know what you think of this as well!** :)**

As always, I've two final term exams this week (it's astounding how my writing bug bites especially before my exams X_X). So in case I don't reply to PMs, which I'm most definitely guilty of, I apologise in advance and hope you all understand.. *sheepish grin* :)

**Additional note:** A thought occurred to me, which I feel I should have highlighted in the previous chapter (it's almost a missed opportunity, but not matter).. The word "Kenshi" literally means 'swordsman'. (I know 'Sword-saint' is a variation used often, but it's denoted by different Kanji, and reads more like 'kensei' than Kenshi). This sort of rings back to my earlier conception of Kenshi's origin, in line with the original timeline more than the new one. You'll find hints of it in this update, but I'll discuss it in detail later. Just giving you a heads up :)

And, as always, thoughts are in _italics _:)

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to their original owners, I'm just playing with them for a while :)**

* * *

**_The Takahashi Family Saga_**

**_Of Trials and Tribulations _**

**_I_**

* * *

"Sergeant Pierre, does your team have their position east of the base?"

"Yes, Kenshi-san. We've got the eastern gate, the helipad and the runway fully covered. An additional back-up force is also in place."

"Good. And the decoys?"

"Decoy 'A' bound for Manchuria by sea, has departed already – 'X' and 'N' are at their locations - ready to leave at your orders, sir."

"Excellent work. I'll summarise a schedule for them once we board the aircraft."

"Affirmative, sir."

"One more thing…" Kenshi mulled thoughtfully before proceeding. "Do not underestimate this silence from the Red Dragon; it could well be the calm before a storm. Keep the Major-Lieutenant updated on the situation here, but be prepared for the worst – the ground forces have my authorisation." Kenshi nodded slowly. "Either of Mavado or Hao is bound to follow me – freeing up this region of their influence. Even if temporary, it's as good as any chance to strike against the cult."

Kenshi raised his face, going from stroking his son's hair absent-mindedly, to fully regarding the Special Forces agent by looking toward his direction.

"I'm delegating the duty to you, Sgt. Pierre," he spoke, emphatic. "Ensure that you do so. Continue to maintain your presence here with your team. Find and eliminate any and all Red Dragon criminal cells here. You should find enough lead from the dead bodies recovered to manage that for now. After that, await my further instructions."

"At your command, sir!"

The boy began to stir against Kenshi's chest. He had not slept a wink in the past thirty hours, exhausted to the bone yet finding himself too drained of energy to muster the strength to fall asleep. This, when compounded by the events of the evil night had left him in a peculiar, dark mood. He deliberately stopped himself from thinking about Suchin; though he had embraced the responsibility of his son without any qualms or reservations, he was not ready to think the woman that brought him into the world, was no more.

_'How could I have been so thoughtless...'_

Takeda was not merely his blood, but the last memento, the last gift Suchin had imparted with him. The tangible expression of the love they had once shared. He would protect their son with his life, with every ounce of strength he had, until his dying breath, and well beyond that.

But such control and coherency were only limited to the swordsman's thoughts. As Takeda sighed and stretched, he was slightly taken aback, unsure of how to react; realising that he had never had a child sleep in his lap, ever in his life. His heart skipped a beat, his throat constricted; the voices of his ancestors laughed in unison at his countenance, and it embarrassed Kenshi in his own eyes.

The boy was awake now, blinking and getting his bearings, resting against the swordsman's collarbone. Takeda heard Kenshi's heart thundering powerfully in his chest, bringing up the image of the somber, silent warrior as when he first saw him, in the boy's mind.

In a careful, timid move he finally raised his head and silently gazed at his father. The harsh angles of his face, the perpetual scowl – but most of all, the hidden eyes intimated Takeda. Hesitation laced in with awe and bewilderment; as the boy continued to stare brazenly for several long, painful moments.

The swordsman continued facing ahead, not acknowledging the boy. Kenshi knew the boy was uncomfortable, but damn it, so was _he_. It wasn't time yet for a cheery morning greeting, and the tired warrior was sure as hell not in the mood for putting up any fake shows like nothing was wrong. He could further guess the boy himself preferred to keep to himself that enjoy shows of affection.

Yet he couldn't stop a warm blush from creeping up at the back of his neck, as if following the boy's blue eyes. The continuous mocking laughter of his ancestors annoyed the swordsman, as his forehead creased further.

"Khun?" Takeda asked quietly. The word, although belied respect and deference, tore in deep at Kenshi's heart. He felt the voices in his head quiet down in the face of the sudden, intense, _flaring_ desire of the roughened traveller. Kenshi selfishly wanted the boy to call him father, however he wished to call it; despite knowing he'd been anything but to him.

He had a lot to make up for, but it could be done. Inch by every single, painful inch, he would cross the chasm of unspoken emotions and fears that lay in between them. He'd toil, until the boy conquers the deep underlying notions of abandonment that had impacted him so profoundly, he wasn't even aware of it yet.

It _will_ be done. Takeda Takahashi would never grow up to be a nameless Kenshi, as his father was.

Kenshi turned his head downwards, meeting his son's gaze, and gave a small smile. "Yes, my son?"

"Where's mother?"

Underneath the blindfold, Kenshi's eyes widened at the question; he was clearly not prepared to answer that, or share the truth with his son. Not when he himself had not accepted it, and most definitely not before the boy acknowledged him as a father, a guardian. It was too early.

'_Indeed,' _he realised with a frown. Kenshi had to make amends with Takeda, have himself cemented as a father in his son's eyes, lest the grief and anger of losing his mother leave him feeling forsaken of all the good of the world – a sentiment the swordsman was all too familiar with, especially in the aftermath of being blinded.

Or worse, the desire of revenge consume, or even destroy his soul, as it had once ravaged and torn apart his good friend, Hasashi Hanzo.

'_That can never be Takeda's destiny. By the Elder gods, I would ensure it wouldn't be so.'_

"Suchi- your mother will join us later, Takeda," he replied softly, his voice betraying the sorrow that plagued his heart.

"When? Where are we going, khun?"

He ignored the first question. "You're going to stay with me now, little one."

"Why?" the boy began to grow anxious. "Why didn't mama tell me we were moving? All my stuff is back in Lampang!"

"It-it'll be arranged, you don't worry about that…"

"What about my school? We have finals in a month-"

"Takeda," Kenshi said slowly, slightly authoritatively, yet his voice remained soft. "We'll have everything sorted out once we reach Japan. Have faith in me, son." Unbeknownst to him, he had already began to adopt the tone and mannerisms of a father.

"I-I do.. I didn't mean that. It's just…" the child was at a loss of words; he felt he was pushed into a corner by this stranger – _his father_, he mentally corrected himself. Takeda was torn in between the million questions that rose to his mind, and his extreme discomfort at the unusual, confusing circumstances he was in.

It was arguably hard to trust a stranger, especially given how his mother had trained him to not heed them the slightest. But this man was his _dad_. Despite his absence, he was _supposed_ to take care of him; that's what dads do. The boy had no conception of how the relation worked practically; apart from what he heard from others in his school talking about their families, although Takeda now knew his father was much, much different from any ordinary man. He was unsure if such standards applied to him as well.

And thus, he could not help but feel belittled; that after all these years, this stranger now showed up, and claimed to have the right to completely control his life, including taking the decision to uproot him from his home entirely.

'_But he isn't bossing you around like Mama does, Takeda… He's just asking to have faith in him,'_ the boy was surprised by the reasoning he gave with himself.

The vagueness, the obscurity of it simply disturbed the child. Even angered him. Yet Suchin had taught him to be adaptable, to be open to change.

'_Be like water.'_

He had disregarded the words, thinking they didn't apply to him since he was just a kid. Little Takeda, then, had clearly no idea how soon he would grow up, and turn to seeking refuge in his mother's words.

Kenshi almost smacked the middle of his forehead with his hand.

_'I can't believe you told him that nonsense, Suchin. Oh, well. At least he isn't quoting__ Ninja Mime.' _A sarcastic smile tugged at the corner of the swordsman's lips.

Try as he might, as much as he had loathed his father before, Takeda knew he would have to deal with Kenshi. Yet he could not help but be amazed and intrigued by the kind of man he had turned out to be. Tall, stoic, quiet – but a fighter, a _swordsman_. A _blind swordsman_.

'_How does he do it?'_ Far more than angry, Takeda was infinitely curious about him – and this curiousity ran deeper than any of the distrust or confusion from before. The boy wanted to know it all, and with immediate effect. But there spanned a barrier in between them – one of reservation and hesitation, bound with the profound desire to gain his father's approval, so that he never leaves again.

Kenshi read it all, and his mood turned dark again.

'_M__y boy, you have no idea how much you are like your mother… The same damned curiosity that now shrouds your anger toward me… If only I'd repelled it all those years ago, kept her from taking a liking to me, Suchin would be still alive … None of this would have happened…'_ Kenshi mused inwardly, a bittersweet pain gnawing his soul.

"Takeda, listen to me," began Kenshi, as he took the child's small fists into his own large hands. Takeda pursed his lips, and looked up.

"I know you have a lot of questions. I know all this must be very… surprising, perplexing for you."

'_That's it, Kenshi. Ease the child into your web of lies…'_

"I wish things could have been different, but they are not…" his voice trailed off. Takeda understood what his father meant, but offered no reply. "And we have to make do with what we have…"

The boy nodded slowly. An uncomfortable silence fell across them.

"Right, son?" Kenshi asked, his voice soft, careful.

The child looked at his father's creased forehead, his blindfolded eyes – and then realised his father obviously had not seen his weak affirmation.

"Yes, khun…"

"Would you believe me if I told you I have so many things to ask you too?" the swordsman continued, quirking up an eyebrow, a wry, lop-sided smile framing his features. He did not wait for a reply. "We'll make time for that soon, I promise. Does that sound good?"

"I guess so…" Takeda said with a frown. "J-just one question?" the boy asked innocently.

Kenshi hadn't meant to make it sound like an unbreakable rule, as he felt guilty at the child's sudden, unquestioning acquiescing to his words. "Yes?"

Takeda hesitated. He inhaled lightly, before continuing:

"This isn't the Royal Thai Army, and you said we're going to Japan… do soldiers from the Japanese army really dress like this? You look more like a ninja from a secret clan.. Or wait - an Outworld warrior!' Takeda's voice comprised a crescendo, going from vague pondering, to a hyper-charged exclamation at the prospect of Kenshi being from Outworld.

The sudden, random question made Kenshi chuckle lightly, despite the circumstances. Takeda would have been annoyed, but somehow, seeing the seasoned warrior laugh put him at ease. It softened the swordsman's angular, perpetually intense face, immediately rendering him likable to the young boy.

"I didn't mean to make fun-" Takeda whispered timidly, embarrassed.

"I know," Kenshi shook his head a bit, smile still in place. "Rest assured, I'm from Earthrealm, son," Kenshi answered, as he lightly pinched the boy's cheek out of affection. "And it's funny, because apart from that, I don't fit into any of those categories."

"If you're not in the army, then what _do_ you do?"

"I was trained as a warrior-swordsman, Takeda. I've spent most of my life in Japan, but…" Kenshi paused.

'_It's not home. I've never had one.'_

The wayward traveller let the subject drop – there was no need for his son to know about the nameless Russo-Japanese couple that brought, and later, abandoned him in this world, nor of his difficult upbringing, shifting from one orphanage to another – before he finally took up the art of sword-fighting, which may as well have saved his life back then.

"As for what I do… Well, you _can_ call me a soldier, of sorts," Kenshi surmised thoughtfully. "I'm a consultant to the Special Forces, and part of the Outworld Investigative Agency. My speciality is reconnaissance and leading tactical missions, often in Outworld and other realms, ensuring the protection of Earthrealm."

The boy stared at the man, eyes as wide as saucers, jaw slack. He blinked slowly as he digested in his father's words. He wasn't quite sure he understood everything; frankly, some of the words just flew over his head, but that did not change his impression the slightest.

"Wow!" was all that the eight-year old could manage.

'_Mother said father was a busy, important man… But she never told me he was __**sooo**__ cool!'_ Takeda wondered in awe.

Kenshi gave a forced half-smile, but rolled his eyes underneath his blindfold when he read his son's thoughts. There was nothing glorious about war. He too, had to look very hard to be able to find any good in his job.

"I wish I could tell Nopadan about this! He'd probably ask for your autogra-" Takeda paused short, the light in his eyes dimming slightly as his face fell. "I didn't even get to say goodbye to Nopa…"

'_Welcome to your father's world, son…'_

"A friend at school?" Kenshi asked, vaguely interested.

"Yes… We were supposed to go to the city carnival in a few days…"

"All by yourselves?"

For the life of him, Kenshi was not interested in knowing about some nameless carnival, not with the prospect of death looming in the corner of his mind. But he recalled, as clear as day, how as a child he hated the feeling of having no one to listen to you; to share the insignificant, little details of his life with anyone. If he was to build a bridge and cross the oceans spanned in between him and Takeda, he would have to take the initiative. Even if it meant enduring such mind-numbing details of a life he wanted his son to forget about, as soon as he could.

"I asked mother to come, but she has her day-shift. So Nopa said he'd ask his dad," the boy suddenly frowned. "Now that I remember, he never confirmed... His dad got a new job working for some Khun-Mav… Mavado, yeah... A lot of kids in my class do. Makes them work odd hours, though. Anyhow, I had asked Kun-Ya-"

"What's the boy's full name, son?" Kenshi's voice undertook a tone of urgency; the swordsman registered nothing after he heard the name Mavado. In a flash of a second, it all materialised in front of him – the vile plan that targeted the Takahashi family; how the Red Dragon would have pieced together bits and pieces of information, linking the single, struggling mother and her son to the rogue swordsman, planted their members and recruited new ones specifically close to the target – and then, gone after them. Kenshi clenched his jaw tightly.

This was Mavado's work. The design, the modus operandi had his name stamped all over it. Kenshi wanted to rip him apart with his bare hands.

"Srisati Nopadan. Why do you ask?" the boy raised an eyebrow quizzically at Kenshi, who had turned and nodded to Sergeant Pierre, silently. The SF-agent had noted the name down.

'_You don't want to know, my son.'_

"Just… _curious_."

* * *

_Lampang, Thailand_

_March, 1999._

The news was unsettling. He had underestimated the woman. He should have known, Takahashi Kenshi wouldn't have a weak woman mother his progeny.

She had fought far, far better than any mother would fight to protect her child. It was quite a feat, taking down three heavily armed men with a single blade. Kenshi had taught her well. But that was not all; she had been perceptive – not doubting the authenticity of his threat the slightest, alerting the swordsman in time, allowing him to whisk the boy away before they could get their hands on him.

Her death did not matter to him, it was ordained by Daegon. But it was the child that was the true target.

_Ahh yes…_ The details could be revised, he was a practical man after all. But the overarching design of his scheme pleased him – lips curling into a devilish sneer as he appreciated his own genius. For truly, he had bested himself this time. What better way to make the blind swine suffer? What else was better than to tear apart the crux of his sorry existence, in lieu of his betrayal? Witnessing the blood of his unsuspecting family being spilt, their flames of life extinguished, the love lost – all in the wake of following a foolish dogma; all for the supposed 'good'. Kenshi's own conscience would kill him, long before Mavado himself would have the honour to plunge a knife into the swordsman's blackened heart.

That cursed ancestral sword, the warrior lineage he boasted proudly of; and most of all, the impenetrable logic of his ruthless convictions – the swordsman had brilliantly duped them. Undoubtedly, the blind Kenshi was a worthy opponent – an _intelligent_ adversary, a dying breed as Mavado knew too well. He had fooled them all - even Lord Daegon, who had thought Kenshi to be the perfect champion of the Red Dragon's cause.

Until Hsu Hao, the ambitious but lowly novice, had discovered his treachery. It could have been due to pure chance – Mavado could tell Hao lacked the discipline, the capacity to progress any further in the Red Dragon – but his raging hatred for the arrogant swordsman had eventually paid off.

To the cultist's surprise, and utmost delight – Takahashi had _run_, like a fearful, hapless animal, from the scene.

Emitting a low, guttural laugh, Mavado stood from his seat and walked over to the map displayed on the wall, his footsteps echoing in his dark chamber. He raised his eyebrows in feint concern, tilting his head to one side, as he mulled over the possibility of _where_ the swordsman could possibly hide. Not a place came to his mind – the Red Dragon was flourishing, and even if they did not have criminal cells across all of Asia, they had enough means to buy the support of local militias and gangs, to turn them to their cause.

_'Tsk tsk tsk… Poor Kenshi…'_

The situation immensely amused him. The fool swordsman had no idea how much Mavado enjoyed this little chase.

The trap was laid out, and the prey was walking right into the snare – with his son in tow. It won't end well for him. Mavado's evil grin turned into a grimace, as he flicked out an onyx dagger from his belt, twirled it over his fingers before stabbing at a location on the map.

The coast of the Sea of Japan.

The rubies set as eyes atop the dragon-shaped dagger, glowed a dangerous crimson; as if in anticipation of the Takahashis' blood.

* * *

_7 hours later, _

_Classified Location,_

_Japan_

"We're here, Takeda," Kenshi murmured to his son. They had disembarked from the SF carrier around an hour back, trekking to the remote, hilly village where Kenshi Takahashi had maintained his temporary residence.

Takeda had found the ride up exhilarating, and as soon as they reached his hut, he found himself entranced by the view – a crystal clear blue sea, with waves lapping in careless abandon across the sandy shore. He had never seen the sea before, except in pictures; he felt a peculiar kind of joy, a senseless giddiness that is experienced only when one's wishes and dreams come true.

It was a novel feeling for Takeda, who had never entertained any illusions in his mind. He had never daydreamed, nor fantasized about a reunion with his father – or of having the perfect, poster family. Even on days when he'd be bullied senseless, he had never dared cross that line – knowing it was easier to ignore and look the other way, than to revel on a loss he never fully comprehended.

But now, it was all coming true – albeit in a bit different way than he could have imagined. He was standing on foreign soil, his hand clasped tightly in Kenshi's. The same father whom the eight-year old had denounced, refused to acknowledge. The same father, who had taken him in his embrace without question, without any reservations. Holding his hand, caressing his face and hair, as if the years that stood in their way were nothing more than wispy constructs of the mind.

From the calloused grip, to Kenshi's unusual blindfolded stare, to the serene feeling of security Takeda felt whenever his father had held him in his arms. The blinded warrior's every movement, his every action was undertaken with the boy's comfort, his ease in mind; and none of it was lost on Takeda.

One could argue the boy was perhaps deliberately ignoring the brutal realities of their confounding situation; discounting Kenshi's mysterious absence entirely, and romanticising his father to the point of delusion. Even if such a thought creeped in Takeda's mind, he shunned it immediately.

"This place is beautiful!"

He nodded in response. The boy was in a state of bliss. Kenshi felt sick to his stomach, knowing he deserved none of the credit the boy owed him; dreading the moment when he knew his son's lofty dreams would be tarnished, by his hand.

It was close to eight in the morning, on a clear Wednesday. The weather was overcast, gray – but even in the quietness of the village, Kenshi felt something was out of its element.

The waves continued to crash against the shore, the sea-gulls shrieked periodically – he heard the shuffling of elderly citizens who passed by, as he bowed in return to their greetings. The scent of the fresh, open sea surrounded him, while the salty sea-air felt cool to his face, the wind caressing his hair.

Having lost his sight, he relied on his other senses to guide him. The voices from the Sento were unusually quiet in his mind – and he sensed the uneasiness in the silence. In his mind's eye, he beckoned his spiritual vision, but found nothing out of the ordinary – no men hiding to ambush them in the vicinity, no evil spirit in sight.

But deep in his gut, he felt knots forming, as his nerves became wrought with unfounded tension.

He couldn't lay a finger on it, yet. Kenshi frowned, becoming increasingly alert. Apart from the SF, no one knew of this location – and he had absolute faith that Sonya would keep it under wraps, for now.

Something definitely was not right about this homecoming…

"You live out here alone?"

"Mmm…"

"Do you… cook and clean by yourself too?"

Kenshi was beginning to get annoyed now. _'It's not just the shape of his mouth that he gets from you, Suchin,' _he fumed silently. But he simply did not have the heart to reprimand him. All Kenshi wanted at that point, was to collapse onto his bed and give himself into the embrace of a dark slumber.

He scowled, and did not reply. They were climbing the steps up a hill now, at the outskirts of the small village, which directly overlooked the sea below them. He deliberately slowed himself down, hand on the boy's shoulder, as Kenshi's hut loomed in sight.

The swordsman halted a few steps before the main door of his abode, and simply listened. The silence was becoming unbearable – not a leaf from the dense overhead trees moved, not a single bee buzzed over the dearth of flowers, not a sliver of wind blew that could carry any sound to the swordsman.

It was just him, and Takeda – as if locked in a vacuum.

'_Odd...'_

Takeda continued, unperturbed: "You won't have to worry now, though; mama will make her special curry and rice for both of us… D-Dad."

_'The last time your mother made that 'special' curry, boy, I nearly overdosed on salt- wait... **what** did he just call me?!'_

Kenshi whipped his neck sideways toward the boy, trying to register whether his weary mind had started playing tricks on him, or if the boy truly did call him da-

Except there was no time.

A long, dangerous beep sounded, with the sound of a ripping explosion - falling in a single, deafening wave to the swordsman's acute ears.

And before he knew it, Kenshi was sailing in the air, hand still clutching his son's. The explosion overwhelmed his senses, his ears ringing with pain, while the force from the blast threw them several feet back. He landed unceremoniously on the ground, banging his head onto a nearby rock; and amidst his son's cries of fear, succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

Uh ohhhh! Looks like Kenshi was becoming just a wee bit too complacent! :P

Anyhow, glad that's over :P Not quite the usual Father's Day special, but I still think it's a major feat for Kenshi at this point.

As always, I'm still new to writing such father-son dialogues, so please do let me know if it seems okay, or if it's getting OOC. If there was any part in particular that you liked, or feel can be improved, do let me know - your reviews truly mean a lot to me. Thanks again for reading this, have a great day! :)


	6. Of Trials and Tribulations II

Hello everyone! I'm back with another update :D

First of all, thank you all sooo much for your heart-warming reviews! I decided to make use of the direct-PM feature this time, but would still like to thank **Guest, The Dragon's Kuniochi, PunkRoseBlitz, Hell-On-Training-Wheels, iceangelmkx, GetCaged **and** RoseScytheElysium** for taking out time to review this story :3

Dearest **Guest:** Thank you so much for taking out time to write to me! I'm glad you're enjoying this so far :) I understand that "Khun" means sir, mister or the equivalent in Thai. And this was what I wanted to convey, that Takeda was calling Kenshi by the honorific 'Khun' (to mean, Mister Kenshi, or something) because he couldn't acknowledge him fully as a 'dad' yet. That's what made Kenshi stop dead in his tracks when he suddenly called him "dad" outright at the end of the last chapter :) If I've misunderstood, then I apologise and request you to guide me as to how I can correct the mistake. Thanks again! :3

An additional thank you to **HollyinSanest, PurpleFlowerBerry** and **noblewingedseraph** for adding this to your favourites/alerts.

It truly means a lot to me, guys; here have some cake all of you *presents a ginormous double chocolate fudge to everyone* ^_^

So we have another Cage-family bit here in this update, although most of it is Kenshi-Takeda related generally. There will be perhaps 1 more update before we actually get to Hanzo and the Shirai Ryu - and I'm trying my best to develop this without it all seeming like a 'filler'.. Also, it's been a while since I've written action scenes, so do let me know how that part (and everything else) goes in this chapter :)

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners - I'm just trying to develop them a bit more :P**

**_WARNING: The beginning of this chapter contains a very graphic, gory scene. There might be a few of those in this whole fic, which I will tell beforehand, but (I think) it still doesn't warrant the entire rating of the story to be changed to M. Anyhow, you've been warned :P_**

* * *

**The Takahashi Family Saga**

**Of Trials and Tribulations **

**II**

* * *

_Classified Location,_

_Somewhere in Japan._

"D-DAD!" shrieked Takeda, his eyes wide with horror as he shook his unconscious father with trembling hands. The sound of the explosion echoed across, smoke rising in bulbous clouds from the cindered remains of where the hut once stood. The fetid smell of burnt wood and concrete filled his nostrils while his eyes watered.

Kenshi began to stir, yet an alarming pool of crimson blood formed below the right side of his skull. He let out a pained groan, and winced, but struggled to regain full consciousness.

Tears flowed down the young boy's face, and despite the heat emanating from the air, felt the cold chill of trepidation roll down his back. "Please, please… Get up!" he pushed more forcefully at his father, as he picked up the gloved hand that lay over his abdomen, and squeezed it tightly before hugging it to his chest.

Pain exploded in the swordsman's head, and he felt nausea gripping his chest. His entire body felt as if it was laced with lead, while his head swirled when he tried to get up. He was overwhelmed from the sensory bombardment; the crackling fire, the stench and the damned ringing in his ears overriding any other perception. Dazed, he could not make sense of anything for a few moments.

Until he heard the boy sob.

It was as if all the shrouded thoughts and impaired senses evanesced at the pathetic sound. Kenshi immediately felt a renewed surge of strength begin to pulse through his veins - from what part of his being, he had no clue. The coherence of his thinking began to gradually return, though dominated primarily by merely one notion in his mind.

'_Takeda…My son… my son…'_

Kenshi grunted with effort as he pushed himself on his forearm and turned to his side. Blood poured in rivulets from the back of his skull to his neck, the pain relegated to a dull throb. He felt his perception of hearing and smell clear up further, and then realised the boy was clutching his hand.

Kenshi cupped his son' face gently, and in a swift movement, pulled him in so that the boy was curled up against his father's chest. Takeda was shaking to the point that his teeth were chattering. The swordsman had no need to read the boy's mind; he was scared to death.

"Are you…" he breathed heavily into Takeda's hair. The exacerbating nausea kept him from completing the question.

"I'm okay, but you're hurt!" cried Takeda. Kenshi gritted his jaw and nodded as he sat up – and instinctively, pushed the boy behind his crouching form.

"Stay back!" he ordered, his voice hoarse. The boy immediately acquiesced, clutching both his shoulders from behind his kneeling position.

Kenshi had finally regained enough strength to be able to process some of the visual information lent to him by the Sento, although the whispers of his ancestors still remained an inaudible, dull hum buzzing in his mind. The spanning spiritual vision taxed his wavering consciousness, but he somehow found himself able to concentrate and seek out any enemies.

It had been a good few minutes since they blew up his house. He was injured with a concussion – nothing that wouldn't fix itself in a few hours, but incapacitating for the moment. The time was ripe for the enemy to strike. Yet he still could not detect anything.

Kenshi wanted to yell from frustration – he knew he was the target, and that his location was not hidden from the Red Dragon anymore. Then where were the brainwashed cultists rushing for their blood? Why was there no grunt here to intercept them? Was this explosion merely to _'scare off'_ Takahashi Kenshi?

The burning hut lay not more than fifteen feet from them. It then dawned on him on how close both of them had been to certain death; had they not paused at the doorstep and entered right into the hut, they would have been part of its flaming ashes.

_'No, that can't be right'_. There was a bounty for his head, and there was no way destroying this paltry abode _alone_ was the way to get to him. All this reeked of a trap; one whose details eluded the swordsman.

"What's going on?" wailed Takeda, as his grip tightened on his father's shoulders. "Who did this? Why would anyone do thi-"

"Quiet, Takeda!" Kenshi barked.

"Where's my mother?! What's happening!" he continued to scream in Kenshi's left ear.

The swordsman let out a tortured cry, clutching his left temple and ear. The careless act did not merely annoy him, it enraged him. He was already blind, he could not tolerate any one else debase his remaining senses for whatever reason.

He had little time nor patience to register that the culprit in this case, was his own son; screaming from fear and simply unaware of the blind man's practical troubles.

Kenshi jerked his shoulder roughly, throwing the boy off from his back. Takeda landed with a thud behind him, shocked at his father's gruff response.

"Don't you dare shout in my ear again, boy. Understood?!" he growled threateningly, not caring what the boy made of it.

Takeda felt insulted, belittled, as he stared at his father's stone-cut jaw, voicing out the hurtful words from a mere glance to the shoulder. Futile tears continued to stream down his face, as faced away from Kenshi, lips pursing into a thin line as his own sense of shame flared.

The boy couldn't dwell on his feelings for long. For as soon as the swordsman uttered the words, he had immediately drawn his sword – a sharp, glittering katana, with the Eastern and Western depiction of dragons carved beautifully across the length of the blade. Takeda felt his heart sink to the ground. He had hated violence, and he had never imagined such a scene would unfold in front of his eyes.

Kenshi held out the Sento in front of him with his dominant hand, whilst putting two fingers to his temple with the other. Despite his weakened state, he was able to forge a telekinetic field –the souls of his ancestors, grimacing in the face of kombat, reflecting off the electric blue aura as it surrounded the duo.

Enclosed in the charged orb, Takeda gasped as he saw the masked-samurai faces of the Takahashi warrior-kings, coalescing and forging, fearsome in their cries of war. The boy trembled from fear, of both the surroundings and his forbidding father.

'_Make it stop, please! Father, anyone, make it stop!' _This was a nightmare, it can't be real. The boy only wanted to go back home. Yet all he could do was struggle to keep his voice in check, and weep helplessly, like he had never wept before.

The cries of the villagers provided Kenshi with the answer to his confusions. His safe hideaway was now marred by taint of the Red Dragon, all within the space of a day. Kenshi shook his head with annoyance, but no matter. He had to deal with the attack first. The very villagers whom he had bowed to out of deference and respect, now began to charge at him, armed with light firearms, but mostly knives and small swords.

"Kh-khun, th-there are so many of them!" whispered, voice trembling to his father. He could barely recognise the father he discovered only hours before now. As he prepared to fight off the attackers, all Takeda saw was a rigid, ruthless fighter on a mission.

Kenshi turned to the boy, and felt the raw terror that had silenced him. The lineage, the powers that he wielded were undoubtedly intimidating, and hardly suitable to be witnessed by minors his age – yet there was little he could do to mitigate and allay his fears.

He cursed internally at the madness of his position.

"Do not worry, son. I've faced much worse," there was no shadow of doubt about it. The current challenge hardly phased the swordsman; it was merely the prospect of keeping his son safe that had left him with a storm of doubts raging in his chest; one he chose to deliberately ignore in favour of his fighting instincts.

His mind had begun to waver, the intensity of his telekinetic field fluctuating in accordance. Now was not the time to reveal his own tactics; he needed to bolster and regain his fragile concentration.

Although it went against everything he knew about the bitterness of life, the way of his lineage and his own unending effort to undermine the effects of his impairment, the blind swordsman calmly uttered certain words that he thought might be the only way to provide the child of some semblance of sanity.

"Close your eyes, Takeda."

Takeda regarded his father with a wide cerulean stare. Kenshi slowly got up on his feet, Sento held tightly, facing the multitude of villagers as the distance in between them and the Takahashi duo, began to lessen. The boy ducked behind his father, clutching the belt at his waist tightly, but not finding the will to comply by his words, as much as he wanted.

The ground hummed with the vile chant of the hostile locals, who were now merely feet away.

At the forefront was a short, old man, eyes glowing dangerously red – as if possessed by some unknown entity. Takeda peeked from behind his father, and recognised him as one who had gently patted his head and smiled kindly to the boy on their hike up to the swordsman's hut, merely moments ago. Kenshi saw him in his spiritual vision, and was astounded. This was not merely an evil spirit residing in a vessel, but as the incarnation of the very devil in itself – every fibre, every muscle, and every drop of blood was marred by a hazy darkness, reeking of a kind sorcery he had never witnessed before.

This was not just about the Red Dragon bribing the local Yakuza anymore. This was far bigger than what any local crime syndicate or organisation could conjure up.

"In the name of Daegon!" the shrieked, his voice a metallic chorus, as he raised his blade to swing at the swordsman.

The warrior telekinetically manipulated the Sento, swinging it in a sharp arc, bringing both of his hands to his temples, forehead creased as sweat stained his blindfold. The telekinetic field protecting the two suddenly intensified, the faces of his ancestors becoming as clear as the sun in the sky, sheer power ebbing and flowing from within the confines of the charged dome. A singular trail of blood flowed from the swordsman's nose, as he felt the natural energy he manipulated, begin to overpower both, his mental and physical strength.

The exact moment that Kenshi had been waiting for.

"ITAMI!"

In a flash of blinding light, the Sento flew straight for the attacker's throat, lodging itself squarely in the middle, until only its hilt was visible. The Sento then sliced the attacker's head off in a singular clean motion. With a mere nod of the head, Kenshi commanded the blade to incinerate it entirely; in equally fast flashes, the elder's head was sliced horizontally, each piece flying out in every direction of the field.

The older man's body stood still for a good few seconds, fingers twitching as the last semblances of life slipped away from his limbs. A thick spurt of blood began to jet forth from the neck, pausing periodically with every beat of the attacker's slowing, dying heart. After what seemed like an eternity, the beheaded body finally slumped to the ground, the fresh crimson staining the green grass below him.

Takeda's mouth was hanging open at seeing his father's mind powers, but now, all he felt was the sickening bile rising in his throat as witnessed the horrific death of the elder man in front of him. The boy began to hyperventilate, taking in deep breaths as cold sweat rolled down his temples – hiding his face and pushing a fist in his own mouth to keep himself from screaming out loud from the sheer terror of the ferocious images that swam inside the walls of the shield, unable to shake the sight of the severed, mutilated body from his mind.

"Get down, NOW!" commanded his father, voice laced with urgency.

A thunderous sound echoed, akin to that of a powerful wave crashing deafeningly, as Takeda felt the telekinetic dome explode in a lethal wave of energy. He cried out with fright, hugging the swordsman's waist from behind, burrowing his face into his back and finally closing his eyes tightly shut.

Takeda was only able to register his father bending down to conceal the boy's form with his own, in the wake of the telekinetic blast that Kenshi had just orchestrated. Lightheaded, the boy clutched his father in a death-like grip.

Even as the hostile attackers fell like flies from the impact of the explosion, Takeda could not help but feel that everything had changed in that maddening moment: nothing would ever be the same for him _ever_ again.

And it was all _this man's_ fault.

* * *

_Cage Residence, _

_Venice, California _

_USA_

It had been an exhausting day for Sonya, and right now, she only wanted to eat dinner, review the Delta Force's mission reports, and collapse into bed. Not necessarily in that order.

Sonya had taken the other end of the table, spreading her files and meagre stationery all across it – barely nibbling on her food as she intensely scrutinised the papers before her.

"So Cass, what happened at school today?"

The Cage family was huddled over a simple meal of roast chicken and veggies – yet despite her husband's pathetically fake uplifting comments, there was no festive mood. At least not for Sonya Blade. There was way too much work to be done. Such niceties could wait.

"Oh, nothing - just the usual, Dad," replied a passive-aggressive Cassie, throwing back the blond braid she had deliberately styled, all in a bit to emulate her mother – and get her attention. Sonya's nonchalance immediately put her in a sullen mood, one she barely struggled to contain. She glared at her mother, but only turned away when she realised the Major was not remotely interested in her.

Johnny immediately felt the tension rise in the air; the sanctity of dinner time had been invaded by Sonya's tenacious work-ethic, yet _again_.

He wasn't quite sure if he blamed Cassie for throwing a shade on Sonya. The doggedly-headstrong woman and her continued lack of acknowledgement belittled the actor as well.

For Christ's sake, how could he blame the child when he was having a hard time barely containing in _his_ temper.

"Sonya, you really should put away those files –"

"Not now, Cage." The reply was cold, curt and monotonous. She could have been speaking to a novice, for all that mattered.

"Hellooo?" Johnny mocked, barely hiding the resentment in this tone. "Who's this? Major Blade? Oh, I'm sorry, I wish to speak with my wife - Sonya, she in there, somewhere?"

Sonya slammed down her pen with enough force to rattle the cutlery on the table, and glared daggers at her husband; ruing the moment she foolishly fell for him, married him, and decided to birth his chil-

She paused at the thought, and glanced guiltily at Cassie. The six-year old was trying to hide her tears, despite the proud rise of her chin. Her heart caught for a second, before she decided to crush her maternal instinct.

'_Our child.'_ She would talk with Cassie later.

The ringing of the comm device was practically welcome to the edgy trio. Johnny let out a slow, defeated sigh and rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Sonya-no, _Major Blade _had won again. Though he tried to not think that way, he couldn't help but feel that the woman before him became more of a stranger to him and their daughter with every passing day.

He glanced at Cassie from the corner of his eye, catching her quickly wipe away a tear and shake her hair free from the braid, until it fell in a silken, gold curtain across her shoulders, before stabbing her food viciously with a fork. His heart twisted in pain for her, as he shook his head.

"Ice cream after dinner, kiddo? With rainbow sprinkles," he chirped, putting his acting skills to use.

Cassie merely sighed and nodded in response.

Sonya had walked over to the console table, and retrieved her comm device, and answered on speaker. Johnny patted his daughter on the head, as he walked over to stand behind his wife, with folded arms.

"Blade here, Kenshi – Come in."

"Maj- B-ade. The loc-a-n h-s b- compr-m-s-d," came a scrambled reply.

Sonya's eyes widened, her back straightening rigidly. _'How can this happen…'_

"Distortion in signal, Kenshi – Repeat." Sonya began to pace nervously, hoping she had not heard what she thought she did.

"Sonya," the swordsman must have moved to a better location; the static eased, and his voice came in loud and clear. "The SF have been compromised," came Kenshi's voice, urgent, yet levelled. "The base north of the location has been destroyed; all aircraft, supplies, weapon depots, personnel –dead, gone."

Johnny straightened up at the words, expression turning sombre.

"Kenshi, are you and the child alright?"

There was a brief pause at the other end. "We barely escaped, but we're fine, Major. For now. But this isn't about the Red Dragon anymore – there was an unknown … entity, perhaps, possessing the locals. It was as if evil _coursed_ through their veins. I've never witnessed anything like that before.."

"God damn it!" Sonya cursed. "I will speak with the General and come with a specialist team to Japan right away. Hang in there, Ken-"

"Sonya, no," came an emphatic reply. "This may be beyond the capacity of the SF - I will contact other allies and sort this out myself."

Sonya pinched the bridge of her nose. Going off the radar, especially without cover, would expose Takahashi Kenshi to further danger – she could not risk that.

"Denied, Kenshi. I'm coming there."

"I did not _**ask**_ for authorisation, Major," Kenshi returned back. "Stand-by later for further info. Over and out."

And with that, the line went dead.

Sonya landed in a heap onto a nearby chair, holding her head in her hands. Johnny crouched and held her by the shoulders, knowing the torture she must be inflicting on herself in her mind.

"Sonya, listen to me. It is not your fault. You didn't know-"

"I put him there, John!" she looked up from her hands, voice strained. "He rejected this mission _twice_ before I talked him into it! 'Way of the warrior', and all that other BS…"

"It was still out of your hands. None of us knew about his family-"

"That doesn't change anything. He _paid_ for trusting in me and the SF with the life of his son's mother. God knows what he'll do now to save the boy…" Sonya trailed off, too consumed by guilt to continue any further.

"It'll be alright, I promise."

Sonya looked up at him, and genuinely tried to believe in the actor's words. The emotions that propelled her good friend to undertake anything, no matter how perilous, to guarantee the safety of his son – all were familiar to her. Much, much more familiar than she'd ever care to express to anyone.

Yet she came up with no rationale, no plan of action nor any vague idea on how to turn that mere promise into fruition. Unlike the actor, there was no room for empty, hollow words in her line of work.

"Promises be damned, it's the results that count."

With that, she shot up without a word, and stormed back into the dining room. Collecting her files silently and as quickly as she could, the Major stomped to the guest room – prepared to spend all night working, and most importantly, without any distractions from her family.

Johnny Cage, still crouched in front of the-now vacant seat, clenched his hands into fists, as he struggled to keep a cap on his rage. He wished to break, rip the chair, the console – everything into shards and smithereens. Punch a hole in a wall. Bring the heady woman to his face and tell her that he was _tired_ of her antics. Tired of trying to mend the relationship she was so adamant on breaking. Tired of holding on to the dream family he had envisioned his own would be.

He was quite nearing his limit. As much as he loved her, Johnny Cage could simply not _stand_ her attitude any longer.

"Daddy?"

His little princess. Johnny felt all his anger and frustration melt away as he heard Cassie's light voice behind him. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as he turned around, picking the six year old up in his arms.

"Yes, pumpkin?"

"I'll take caramel fudge with chocolate syrup this time."

"Right on, kiddo!"

* * *

_Near Matsushima Air-Field,_

_Miyagi Prefecture,_

_Japan_

"You don't like your ramen?"

Takeda looked up from his steaming bowl of noodles in broth, to his father, absolutely incredulous. He could not believe him. After murdering so many people, a futile hike back to the SF-base that had met a fate similar to Kenshi's abode, and a whirlwind bus-ride to some remote town near an army airfield - his father had the _audacity_ to casually inquire about food in this rickety, old diner?

"I'm not hungry," he answered quietly. The aroma was enticing, and Takeda felt his stomach grumble in anticipation of food – but he felt like a balloon was being inflated inside his chest. He had absolutely no appetite for anything. How could he, when the the images of the morning's death and destruction still swam in his mind?

Kenshi paused, chewing thoughtfully on his food as he set his chopsticks down. The worst of the concussion to his head had subsided and he had regained most of his strength, and every bite of food defeated any lingering traces of fatigue from his trained body. He was grateful for it, although he still did not make full use of his telepathic abilities as he did before, lest his migraine set in again.

If they were to make the journey, especially considering the route he'd decided on, he would need every ounce of his strength.

And patience.

It was a busy afternoon at the diner – though the buzz of conversation and the clatter of cutlery mildly irritated him, he realised it would perfectly conceal their voices.

"We have a long journey ahead of us, son. It'll probably be a while before we'd get to eat again."

A period of silence descended upon the two. Takeda picked up his chopsticks and stirred his meal. Kenshi did not resume eating – knowing that any second, his son would bombard him with a string of questions he deserved answers to.

Takeda furrowed his brows. "So _this_ is the work that kept you away from us all this time?" His tone could have cut through ice.

A muscle ticked in the swordsman's jaw, as Kenshi bit his cheek. The boy was toeing a dangerous line there.

"I do what I must, son. You need not worry yourself over what you don't understand at your age."

"You said you were a soldier. Soldiers protect people, not kill them!"

"Did I not just protect _us_ both?"

"Oh, sure – if by protection you mean almost being blown up to pieces!"

"Be quiet, Takeda!" Kenshi said lowly, yet sternly. He glared despite his blindness, knowing full well that the act would be received as such by his son.

Takeda fumed, but ultimately complied. "Why?" he whispered, head bowed and arms crossed. He was beginning to get tired; he didn't want to play along to this charade anymore.

"You were there. You _saw_ why," Kenshi hesitated, unsure if he should voice out the latter part or not, but then deciding to proceed. "Even though I told you not to."

"_Why?_" he repeated, emphatic. "You haven't answered a single question – have you forgotten your promise already?" The tone was scathingly accusatory.

Normally, Kenshi would not tolerate a young boy answering back like this to him – he was a believer in family values; where respect and obedience to the family were at the foremost. Despite knowing full well he had never observed any such values throughout his entire rough childhood.

'_I'm turning into Suchin's goddamn mother.'_

But his son deserved all the leeway he could get, presently. The boy was shaken to the core, alienated from his mother, having witnessed far more violence in one day than most do in a lifetime, accompanied by a stranger of a father who continuously exposed him to danger, yet wouldn't talk straight to him about it at all.

Hell, now Kenshi was angry at himself.

"The opportunity never really came up, son," he answered instead. "But you deserve to know as much." He bent his head down, nodding to the boy so that he could follow suit. Takeda skeptically looked from one side to another, and leaned slightly in.

"I was working against a criminal organisation. My cover was blown, and now they want me dead." He spoke gravely: "I don't know how, but they found about this place – the result is in front of you."

Kenshi let the words hang in the air as he moved back, picking up his bowl and chopsticks once more, and taking a silent bite.

Tears swam in Takeda's eyes, which he willed and drank back. None of this excited him any longer. Such things were only enjoyable on the weekly Saturday-night action hour on television; in real life, they were bloody, gory and frightening, and Takeda wanted nothing to do with it.

"I want to go back to Thailand. Mother and I are better off without… _you_."

Kenshi paused midway putting another morsel of food in his mouth – and slowly, as if in pain, he set the chopsticks beside the bowl.

Takeda could have taken a blunt switch-blade and stabbed it straight into his heart; and repeated the action again, and again, until every drop of blood bled out from Kenshi's body - that would not have hurt him more than what his son just said. The sheer truthfulness of his words expounded the incredibly bitter pain, as it spread in the middle of his chest.

"I know," he admitted darkly. "Unfortunately, that is no longer an option. Thailand is not safe."

His throat constricted, and he could not say anymore.

'_You were a great fool to think this would have turned out any better, Kenshi,'_ he mentally berated himself. The voices from his ancestors offered no counsel, no consolation to him – and the swordsman felt the moment of intense shame pass.

"Eat, son. It's getting cold."

Takeda felt embarrassed at being rude to his father, and was taken aback at the lax, tired response from Kenshi – without reprimand, or any verbal disciplining. Mother would have hushed him, if not punished him outright for such insolence. Despite his disillusionment from his father, a word of admonishing might have cemented him as a parent in the boy's eyes.

But the opportunity had elapsed. Now Takeda felt that in spite of the blood that bound them, he _was_ conversing with a stranger, introduced to them by the mysterious circumstances afflicting him.

An uncomfortable silence fell in between the two as Takeda began to slowly eat his food. The boy blushed, now blaming himself for closing in the argument in between his father at a time when he hadn't even gotten all his answers.

_"Sumimasen…"_

Kenshi sharply directing his attention toward the speaker of the voice; he relaxed a little when a quick telepathic check revealed and confirmed an old woman, with no evil designs on them. Nevertheless, he sat up alert, and regarding the woman with a suspecting look whilst saying nothing.

"_Kore wa anata no musuko-sandesu ka?_"

"_Hai, soo desu,_" responded Kenshi with a nod.

"_Totemo kawaii-desu_!" And with that, the old woman smiled graciously and patted Takeda's head. "_Kare no chichi mo kakkoii desu yo!_" she said, winking at Kenshi, playfully.

"_Doomo-arigatoo_," Kenshi responded with a small laugh, bowing his head at the remark.

"_Jaa, mataa!_" Takeda too smiled up at the old woman as she shuffled away. She reminded him of his grandmother, and the resemblance warmed him up inside.

Kenshi took a small sip of his water, as the conversation replayed in his mind. A faint smile softened his features, as he quizzically mulled over how much his life and mannerism had changed over the years. He was never one to pick up conversations with strangers, unless he really needed to. Before being blinded, he would have lashed out at the stranger for disturbing him; later, though humbled, he would have only given a half-smile as the only reply, not used to being talked up by strangers in anyway. But readily accepting praise on having an adorable son was clearly something new to him – and oddly enough, he did not mind it as much as much as he thought he would.

"What was she saying?" he timidly inquired. Despite knowing he treaded on thin ground, Takeda was grateful that the woman provided him the chance to be able to talk to him once more.

"She complimented you and the donor of your good-looks," Kenshi replied, deadpan, before flashing a brief lop-sided smile and resumed eating.

Takeda let out a small giggle, and the tense atmosphere slightly abated in between the two. "No, I take after Mama, she's very beautiful, you know."

'_Dead wrong, little one. You're my spitting image.'_

"Have you ever…" Takeda scratched the back of his neck nervously. He did not know how he could phrase the question without offending his father, and thus hesitated, shifting in his seat.

"Seen her?" the father completed. "Not with my eyes… But I have seen the beauty, the purity of her heart, son," Kenshi replied wistfully. "As rare as it is, I see it in you, as well…"

"What do you mean?"

"In time, you'll understand…" Kenshi replied, reaching out to ruffle his son's hair affectionately. "Until then, stop worrying that _'cute'_ head of yours, or the lady will have my neck!"

"Daaaaadd," Takeda slightly wailed, inching away from the touch.

Kenshi beamed at the boy, paternal love blossoming in his chest and burning through his doubts like darkness being chased away by light.

To think, he hadn't even dreamed in his wildest imagination of his son's _existence_ a little more than a day ago – and now, the boy merely calling him by his relation, brought him a kind of joy he had never experienced ever before.

If only he had acted on instinct, and returned whenever the thought of Suchin had pierced his heart. If only he had had the strength to silence his wanderlust and never left her. If only he had a way to turn back the tides of time, and undo the damage that has already been wreaked…

Kenshi kept those thoughts at bay.

"Have… Have you really fought even _more_ people than today? All at the same time?" Takeda asked cautiously, keeping his voice only just above a whisper.

The swordsman nodded. "Yes. The nature of my work has always been dangerous. By staying away…"

He stopped. He could add the title of a professional double-agent, experienced in various espionage and counter-espionage activities to his list of talents. Lying to deceive no longer appeared a vice to him.

But Kenshi could not bring himself to brazenly lie to his son. What kind of a man was he, lying in a bid to gain his child's approval? What kind of a father was he, thinking he could rob his son of the truth, only to maintain the boy's delusions about him?

'_An utterly desperate one,' _an ancient voice whispered in his mind. He mentally agreed.

"You thought you could protect us from harm?" Takeda finished what Kenshi couldn't, picking up the unspoken lie his father couldn't voice.

The swordsman did not answer back, but the damage had already been done.

Feeling guilty, Kenshi closed his beneath the blindfold and let out a breath he did not know he was holding. "Takeda, we're short on time. Finish your meal, we have to leave soon."

"Where are we going now?" Despite the highs and lows, the curtness and the gentleness of their conversation, Takeda felt himself ease up from before. He began to eat readily, even enjoying the hot meal.

Kenshi's mood immediately turned serious.

"To visit an old friend."

* * *

**Transcript:**

_Old lady: Excuse me. Is this your son?_

_Kenshi: Yes, that's right._

_Old lady: He's very cute; His father is good-looking too, I'm telling you!_

_Kenshi: Thanks very much._

_Old lady: Take care!_

* * *

I have been learning Japanese for a while now, although I'm a little concerned because I fear the above conversation might just be too casual to be used by an old lady – if that's the case, I request my readers to please let me know immediately what will be a more appropriate conversation, so I can fix this. Thanks in advance! :)

Anyhow, things slowed down a bit in this chapter – I was aiming for more meaningful conversation in between father and son. I personally felt these highs and lows are important to cover, especially because once Kenshi and Takeda reconcile later (those chapters will definitely be more Takeda-centric as compared to these). As is with every relation, arguments and conflict tend to bring people closer together, so I just felt that naturally, it was important to convey this closeness before, ultimately before Kenshi leaves him off at Hanzo's.

Just a hint of things to come – the next chapter will probably be quite long, and it might be the most action-packed (depends on how it writes itself :) ). You'll see maybe 1-2 new OCs, aiming to flesh out the sparse storyline of the comics, but again, this will be more Kenshi-centric (maybe with a bit of Mavado thrown in). Just to let you guys know, writing Mavado was (strangely) the fun-nest part for me so far, and I've an extensive role reserved for him in the next arc – so stay tuned ;)

A shoutout to **iceangelmkx** as I discussed Kenshi's changing mannerisms with her on PMs.. You directly inspired this, girl! :D

As always, thanks so much for reading this. If you liked anything, or have any criticism, or concerns (especially on going too OOC) please do feel free to let me know via reviews and PMs – I really look forward to hearing from you all. Until next time, enjoy! :)


	7. Of Trials and Tribulations III

Hello everyone! Sooo sorry about the late update! X_X

To be very honest, I sort of underestimated what I had in mind for this. As I got writing, I felt two developments were necessary, before the Takahashis finally reached Hanzo (instead of one). One of them, is dealt with in this chapter (Yay! ^^) - while most of the second one (that is, the next chapter) is already written out and hopefully, the next update won't take as long :)

First thing's first - a huge thank you to all of you who read my story, and of course, my darling reviewers :D

**Guest:** I know, right! x_x But don't you worry, we all know she makes up later for it. Thanks for reviewing! :)

**PunkRoseBlitz:** Boy, did I take your words to heart about taking my sweet time! xD Thank you SO much for your review! I'm truly honoured to hear that this is helping you in your story. Please do feel free to message me anytime you need any help writing. Thanks again, friend! :3

**Hell-on-Training-Wheels:** Wow! Thank you so much for the kind words! I'm glad you enjoyed these little bits - I've been very rusty, and am very glad to see I did okay in the end (especially since you're the expert in writing spectacular action scenes! :D). I truly appreciate it! Thanks so much for reading this! :D

**Poe's Daughter:** Wowie! Thank you so very much, my friend! :D I'm glad you enjoy the complexity of their relationship (to tell you the truth, this is sort of inspired by the relationship I have with my parents, lawl).. In terms of intensity, at least. I actually want to show them grow close, and break apart, and then draw in a little closer again - because that is how relationships are strengthened over time. I still don't know what I'd do with these two for the actual patching up scene once Takeda grows... but nevertheless, I'm truly humbled by your words - thank you for reviewing, my friend! :'D

**iceangelmkx:** Aww thank you so much! I feel bad for Takeda too.. A little wee bit :/ I'm taking all creative liberty with this, but I'm pretty sure Takeda had the whole 'safety bubble' thing blown when he fled with Kenshi to the Shirai Ryu. It's just sad that when you think of it, an eight-year old had to go through all that.. ;( Our conversations have been truly helpful, my friend! Thanks soo much for being there for me! :3 :3 :'D

**RoseScytheElysium:** I am soo glad you like this! It is so tricky to write out these conversations, especially because I have to keep in mind the two are not yet totally comfortable with each other.. and some of that becomes apparent especially at times, like in the fight scene - because Takeda had definitely not seen anything like that before, and I doubt Kenshi ever found himself in a battle with an 8-year old by his side.. I'm so happy to see you liked it all - thanks again for reviewing, dear! :3

**Fantasyword92375:** Thank you soo much for your review! I know, that was quite a bummer for me too - but t'is given me a reason to start writing again! I hope you like this update too! :D

And of course, a huge shoutout to those who favourited/followed this: **subzerodx, sbucks1998** and **keyblader41996. **

Guys, I honestly, truly feel you all are too kind to me, and I just want to thank you all for encouraging me continuously! Love you guys! :3

So, without any further ado - here's the next chapter! I hope you all enjoy this! :)

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OCs I'm willing to kill :P **

**Note: **Flashbacks and thoughts are in_ italics _:)

* * *

**_The Takahashi Family Saga_**

**_Of Trials and Tribulations _**

**_III_**

* * *

**_2 days later_**

_Unknown location,_

_Outskirts of Hanoi, Vietnam_

"Takeda, hurry up!"

"In a minute, Dad!"

Kenshi huffed at the response and scowled at the child. They had a few, measly belongings – a knapsack which Kenshi wore at his waist, containing his emergency communication devices and some dry rations. Takeda had a backpack that contained a book or two, and some clothes. Nothing that would keep them from their journey for long.

The swordsman was not yet used to other's bogging him down, and he felt slightly annoyed at his son's dilly-dallying.

The boy ran up to his father. "Here, let's go!"

Kenshi nodded and clutched the boy's hand, throwing his ragged shawl over his shoulders to conceal the Sento. They exited the paltry apartment, just as the sun began its descent. Lush green fields glittered, under the waning rays, and a cool, gentle breeze blew, refreshing the duo.

They had escaped Japan two days ago on a military cargo freighter – a favour Kenshi had pulled from a resident local army official managing the Matsushima airfield. They had arrived at the Vietnamese capital, where Kenshi had secretly contacted another of his acquaintance near the city. They had agreed to meet at their destination in the capital a little more than an hour's time, from where he would grab a flight for Mumbai in India, to meet his next contact.

Kenshi planned to lead the Red Dragon on a wild chase all over the continent, before he reached the Shirai Ryu Temple, tucked away somewhere near the Sino-Pakistan border.

"Is this the friend you said we were going to visit, Papa-san?"

Kenshi stopped dead in his tracks, turning quizzically toward his son. His eyes suddenly welled, and he raised an eyebrow, grinning incredulously while trying to keep the tears at bay.

'_Papa-san?! You kawaii little thing, you're going to be the death of me.'_

Kenshi let out a small chuckle of laughter, shaking his head as he crouched to face the boy. "How do you even think of such things, son?"

"It sounds much more fun than the plain, boring 'Dad', you know," Takeda replied, smiling up to his father, as he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck.

'_Ahh. My creative little tyke.'_

Kenshi smiled, cheeks bracketing into dimples. Somewhat unsure of whether he should be hugging the child or not, Kenshi merely combed his son's hair with his fingers affectionately, before patting his head and continuing in on their way.

The past two days had been brimming with such small instances like these – when the rugged swordsman had found the boy accepting of the love and care that flowed from him out of its own accord. He hadn't the vaguest idea of what fatherhood was like, or what it entailed, yet everything seemed to come to him intuitively – as if he had been prepared to handle this his whole life. Every time the boy reached out in his sleep for his hand, every time he leaned in close when he was scared, and every time he called him father, or 'papa-san', more recently, Kenshi felt as victorious as if he had won some secret battle – as if every action that bought the boy closer to his father, somehow validated the swordsman in some unimaginable way.

But in the corner of his mind, Kenshi always reminded himself to not be distracted, or swayed by sentiments alone. With fatherhood comes responsibility, and currently, assuring Takeda's safety was at the top-most of his priorities.

"No. It's not him, my son."

Takeda groaned from annoyance. He had not gotten an answer from his father on why they were here, or where they were supposed to go. Or where his mother was. Kenshi knew it was his sheer luck that the boy was quick to acquiesce, but Kenshi had remained firmly silent on these issues. He was still mulling over what course of action to undertake, what would ensure the boy remained free from danger the most.

Although, after the attack at the base and his house in Japan, Kenshi began to question whether his decision to keep the boy with him was all that good for Takeda. Yet the telepath would not be defeated so easily. He would find a safe refuge for the two of them, somewhere, anywhere.

Even if Hanzo could not keep them, he would most certainly guide him. Or at least he would hear out the swordsman, for a similar grief had befallen him now.

Kenshi allowed the moment to pass, and with the thought of Suchin's death, his mood turned sombre again.

'_Takahashi, come in!'_

Kensh fished out the comm device from his knapsack and inserted it into his ear.

"Takahashi here. What's going on, Dung?" Kenshi spoke, alert.

'_Abort rendezvous, Kenshi! I repeat, abort – HRRNNNGHHHHH'_

Kenshi's eyes widened, and he felt a cold chill run down his spine. He was familiar with the sound – a man drowning in his own blood.

"Dung? Can you hear me? Dung?!" he all but shouted into the device.

A slow, long malicious laugh was the only reply to his queries.

'_Well, well. Takahashi Kenshi - what a pleasure to find you in this part of the world,' _rasped a voice from the other end.

Kenshi's lip curled in disgust, as he struggled to keep a cap on his rage. "Your fight's with me, Mavado. Leave Dung out of this!"

'_I'm afraid Mr Dung __**is**__ out of all this, now.' _Mavado remarked remorselessly_. 'What a weakling… Yet why the surprise, swordsman? Surely you haven't already forgotten the tenets of the Order, have you?' _

The voice was smoother than oil – every syllable dripping with a sickening, evil delight.

'_All crimson spilt purifies the cause of Daegon… Hmm?' _Mavado laughed once more, egging the swordsman to complete the sentence.

Kenshi visibly shook from anger.

"What's going on Da-"

"SHHH!" Kenshi scolded, slapping a hand onto the boy's mouth and holding him against his leg. Takeda fidgeted nervously, but the grip was relentless. The boy noted Kenshi's hand trembling, and began to quiet down.

'_Ahh... The younger Takahashi. Spirited, aren't we? A pity, we could not be acquainted face-to-face, no?' _Mavado continued, unperturbed._ 'Nevertheless, what better than to share our knowledge with the young one early on, say? He needs to know too, before I plunge a blade into hi-'_

"Hear this, Mavado! You won't touch a hair on his head, as long as I live!" roared Kenshi with an unfamiliar ferocity.

'_Death, is but a sacrament, to the true life as ordained by Lord Daegon!' _returned Mavado. After a brief pause, his tone turned mocking once again. _'You do disappoint me, Kenshi. No matter, the little one will learn, just like his dead m- ' _

Kenshi cut off the connection barely in the nick of time.

He then let go off the boy, and beckoned the Sento to his hand. Laying the comm link on the ground, Kenshi bashed it with the hilt of the katana, continuously, until all that remained were plastic shards, which would not be shattered any further.

Takeda observed his father, holding his mouth with both his hands to keep himself from making any sound, lest he anger his father again, as he did before in Japan. The effort was taxing on the boy; he felt tears roll down his face, and all he could think about the decapitation of the possessed old man, and how his father wielded the same deadly blade of Sento, without mercy nor care.

Several long moments later, the blade clattered to the ground from Kenshi's hand. The swordsman sat on his knees, holding his forehead, and running a hand through his hair, the other still gripping the katana's hilt in a death-like grip. He growled, and let out a cry of frustration, banging a fist into the ground in a futile effort. Another ally, now was dead; his way of escape, now barred off. He cupped his face with one hand, and shook his head, rueful.

Takeda closed his eyes shut, and began to take in huge gulps of breath, trying to calm himself down as he had seen his mother do whenever she'd get angry at him. Before he realised, Kenshi had enveloped him in a tight, bear hug – hanging desperately onto the boy, more for his own satisfaction than to allay the child's fears.

"No, don't cry, my son," his voice rumbled deeply in his chest, although it trembled with rage. "Do not fear him. You do not fear him for one minute. I am here. I am still alive. They'll have to go through me, first."

Takeda clutched the front of his father's armour, and let the tears flow unbarred.

"Till when, Dad?" he whispered darkly. "Why do we have to run all the time?"

Kenshi pulled him in closer, but Takeda felt numb. He did not feel the warmth of a father's embrace – he felt isolated and hollow. How strange was all this? One moment, he would feel on top of the world for having a great dad – warm, receptive and good-humoured. Who would smile at him like he meant the whole world to him, who would press him tight to his chest – as he did now – making the child feel incredibly secure…

But then without warning, his father would turn ruthless – with no time for explanations, not an iota's worth of care for the victims that died by his hand. Takahashi Kenshi fiercely protected the child, sheltering him with his body, comforting him during a raging attack – just like his mother had promised he would. But he would remain disconnected, silent and closed for most of the time; compelling Takeda to think that he was, in fact, stranded in the middle of nowhere with this warrior of a father – a burden to him, like he had always been.

The boy couldn't make sense of any of it. The conflict left him feeling utterly torn; the boy could never understand how welcome the numbness was to him at that point.

"I don't like it when you fight. I don't like it when we have to run. Why can't we just go back and live with Mama in Lampang? Why can't you just be a normal dad, like everyone else?" The words were hollow, void of any resentment, or accusation. Monotone, trembling and barely above a whisper – it was a testament to paralysing sense of fear Takeda was struggling to cope with.

In his mind, the words were unregistered – flowing out from him as if they were destined to be voiced, leaving the boy with no recollection whatsoever.

"At times, I think I know you... but then - you scare me. All this scares me. Dad, _you_ scare me…"

The voice of someone who knew they had already lost.

The words would haunt Kenshi for a long, long time – and the swordsman knew the moment they were spoken, that he would be nothing more than a bane for the child; a perpetual cause of misery.

'_My dear son. You are the light of dawn piercing through my darkness. I fear for you. I fear someone may try to harm you, or take you from me. I wish I could let you know how scared __**I**__ am for you. The veil in between us, these secrets must be kept until I know you are safe. I owe it to your mother, she died protecting you. I can't let her sacrifice go in vain…'_

The Takahashi legacy. His progeny. Hounded and hunted like dogs to the ends of the realm. Kenshi's bequest to his only child.

"Forgive me, my son."

And without another word, Kenshi scooped up the shell-shocked Takeda in his arms, and simply ran.

* * *

**_1 day later_**

_Near Mount Gephel,_

_Lhasa, Tibet_

_China_

"Papa-san!" the young boy ran up to Kenshi as they stood outside a Buddhist temple, slightly panting from his run. The rush from the wind cooled his face, refreshing him as he deeply inhaled the mountain air. Kenshi turned, stopping at the step of the temple and nodded down at him.

"Jamyang has a football! Can I play with him? Pleeeease?"

Kenshi gritted his jaw, and took in a deep breath. Ever since Vietnam, he had been a tad too strict with the boy, ensuring he remain by his side at all times, not letting him go more than an arm's reach away from him. He was surprised at how Takeda adapted to his paranoia, without making too much of a fuss – but the swordsman could see fear being internalised by the boy, and he was crestfallen at how his entry into the boy's life had already begun to adversely affect him.

"I promise, we will play just outside the temple while you complete your meditation! Please, Papa-san, please?" Takeda looked up with a wistful, cerulean stare, wishing with all his heart that his father would agree to his request.

"Where's this boy? I have to speak with him first."

Takeda bit his lip, as his face fell slightly. He signalled his father to bend his head. Kenshi was able to sense the message, and he complied.

"He's a little scared of you, because of your blindfold and sword, so he's hiding out in the back," whispered Takeda nervously. "Can't it… I mean, is it necessary?"

"I'm afraid it is, son." Kenshi sighed. "The Sento is sheathed, so he shouldn't worry about that. Tell him I'm blind, and that I'm saying its better he not see my eyes."

Takeda looked into his father's face – chiseled, angular features, a little severe but Takeda knew they relaxed into a warm smile. He knew Kenshi was not as intimidating as the blindfold rendered him, and felt a tad guilty for bringing up his impairment like this.

"S-sir?" a small voice squeaked behind Takeda. Kenshi turned his head toward the direction of the new voice. A small boy, the Sento guided to the swordsman in his mind – ruddy, healthy, with a ball in hand. He was shuffling nervously, and blushing at him.

Kenshi nodded, and Jamyang tentatively walked over to the swordsman. He bowed deeply in deference to him, as he had seen people do in martial arts' movies. Kenshi returned the gesture by lowering his neck a little. "You must be Jamyang, then?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And where are your parents, little one?" the swordsman demanded, a touch of condescendence in his tone.

Jamyang gulped and shuffled his feet. "S-sir, they live in the town. I'm up here to live with my grandfather for a few days. He's inside the temple."

"Hmm…" the answer pleased Kenshi for a bit – perhaps he might get a chance to speak with the boy's guardian. It was then he felt Takeda tugging at his sleeve, reminding him he had still not given an answer yet.

"Dad?" Takeda asked, slightly more forcefully this time.

"Fine." Kenshi acquiesced, his voice hoarse. "Stay in the vicinity of the temple. I should not have to walk more than ten steps to get to where you two are. Am I clear?" He was authoritatively stern in his words, and he cared not what the Tibetan child thought about that.

"Yes, father," Takeda too, took a step back and bowed deeply. He'd never done that to him before, and Kenshi knew he was mirroring his friend purely to convey how resentful he was of his father, for being unnecessarily strict and curt with them.

The swordsman merely added a pang of guilt to his list of grievances, as he entered the temple, hoping against hope that he would find some solace within himself.

* * *

"Much burdens your heart, bearer of the Sento."

The voice echoed throughout the empty chamber, and Kenshi's forehead creased as he was disturbed from his meditation.

The swordsman turned towards the old monk with a frown. "Maybe it wouldn't, if I were not interrupted," he answered back, still levitating in the air.

The older monk chuckled softly, and sat beside the swordsman. He lighted a few more incense, directly underneath Kenshi's nose, slightly irritating his sense of smell.

"Ahh… I have missed talking to angry young men like yourself. Come, sit beside me – let us talk."

Kenshi had taken sanctuary with the Tibetan monks in the high hills of Lhasa, hoping to reach the Shirai Ryu and gain Hanzo's advice on his current predicament. However, with the death of his contact in Vietnam, the swordsman had had no choice but to abandon his initial route through India. He had instead, fled to China – hoping to cross the Tibetan plateau and cross over to the Shirai Ryu base in time.

During his journey, the swordsman had been beside himself with grief, anger and confusion. He was torn in multiple ways – and he felt all sense of calm and patience desert him at this time, when he perhaps needed it the most.

The monk was, of course, right in his call. After hesitating for a moment, Kenshi eased himself to the ground, sitting cross legged before the elder, as he sheathed the Sento.

A few moments of peace passed – until the older man picked his walking stick, and lightly poked Kenshi in the belly with it.

Kenshi allowed the monk to complete his senseless action, but hiked an eyebrow irately, knowing it should be enough to have the monk start explaining himself.

"Don't look at me like that," the older man shot back, as if offended. "I was just prodding the worries in there to come forth."

"I am not a child, old man."

"Who're you calling old, eh? Yeshe is my name. But pray tell, how else am I to know what bothers you, if not poke the worries out from you?"

Kenshi bit his cheek and gave a tiny smile at the response, as Yeshe chuckled.

He spoke, turning sombre once more. "You are right, Yeshe. I do have a lot on my mind."

"Then speak up, my boy."

"They call me Kenshi."

"Oh, we all know who you are, son," Yesha grinned.

The swordsman did not register the remark. He sighed, trying to find a single issue to highlight, and bring to the monk's attention, but his mind was a cacophony of thoughts he had no way of silencing. "I was kept unaware of my right, my duty to my son, for all his life. And now, that he is in my care, all I can think of is how unworthy I am, of fatherhood. Suchin, had been right…"

"If he resents you for your absence, then your son is not in the wrong, swordsman. Give him time."

"It's not that, Yeshe," Kenshi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can only hope that one day my son will forgive me. But for now – I'm unsure of whether me protecting him as I'm doing, is enough at all. His life may be intact, but the mental scars…" His breath hitched, and the swordsman paused momentarily, before continuing. "Everyone I have ever loved, has met an untimely end because of my deeds. I fear for my son's life, Yeshe. No one, and certainly no _child_ deserves to witness the life of blood, murder that is my own."

"But you are already a stranger to him. What keeps you from leaving your son in any other orphanage?"

"What?" Kenshi turned his head up sharply to regard the old monk, incredulous. "He is no orphan! Why would I do anything like that?!"

"So what _is_ your problem then?" Yesha's exasperated tone riled up the swordsman, but he was caught off-guard with the question.

"I... I cannot lose him, too."

"Then you are at an impasse with your heart!" Yeshe laughed, much to the swordsman's chagrin.

"I fail to see the humour of the situation, old man," he returned, coldly.

"Ahh.. Kids these days…" scoffed the monk. "Anyhow, sometimes it's wise to return to the past, to find the path to your future."

Kenshi rolled his eyes underneath his blindfold and did not respond.

"My boy, you are not only estranged from your son, but of your lineage as well," Yeshe continued with a smile. "The warrior kings of the House of Takahashi – for centuries, their legends were woven into our folklore. Not so much, these days. Who wants to listen to us old men now, talk of even older men when you can watch 'Power Rangers' on the idiot box, eh? Such a shame…"

Kenshi's upper lip curled in annoyance. He silently cursed himself for agreeing to converse with this senile old man in the first place. He felt a headache beginning in his temples.

"You're not helping, Yeshe."

"I was unaware you asked for my help, son. That would be very unbecoming of the Takahashis," the elder man clicked his tongue with disapproval.

Kenshi folded his arms, straightened his back, and inhaled; patience wearing thin.

"Surely, if you were aware of the way of your ancestors, you would know they left their children at a young age, at dojos and training grounds across the world – allowing them access to various martial arts, as well as a way of maintaining peace in their lands, and with their neighbours."

"I did not ask for a history lesson, Yes-" Kenshi paused mid-sentence, as he suddenly understood what the old man implied.

Training his son the way his ancestors had done, a millennia ago… Leaving Takeda with… who?

Kenshi knew the Lin Kuei were not an option – he would never dream of damning his son, to become a soulless tin armour under the ruthless Sektor.

The Shaolin? Kenshi felt his heart harden at the thought. He had resented the Shaolin being preferred to participate in the first Mortal Kombat tournament, over him – depriving him of the opportunity to exact revenge from Shang Tsung. Evidently, even after years, the hostility he felt toward them hadn't thawed.

That left only the Shirai Ryu.

His son, under the care of Hasashi Hanzo? The infamous former hell-wraith? A being forged in the darkest bowels of the Netherrealm?

Despite his respect for the restored Hanzo, the swordsman was more than uncomfortable with the thought.

"Do you understand now, Kenshi?"

"Thanks for making my life a whole lot harder than it was before," the swordsman muttered.

"Ahh, the years have made me a little hard of hearing, son. You'll have to speak up a little louder," returned Yeshe, turning his ear almost comically in the swordsman's direction.

Kenshi took the cue. He moved in closer and very loudly, spoke: "That is _not_ what I wanted to hear!"

"Yikes! Who spit in your tea today?" the monk shook his head, trying to clear up his rattled hearing. Kenshi flashed a pleased grin.

"So the young, confused bearer of the Sento deems it better to break tradition, eh?"

The swordsman scoffed. Tradition meant little to him, it did nothing for a man in practical terms. The souls in the ancestors had told him of this, but the swordsman doubted what worked for the Takahashis ages ago, would achieve the same results now.

"I cannot part with my son, Yeshe. The situation is not the same."

"Hmm… I did give you a very clever reason, but you're not taking it." Yeshe frowned, and scratched his head. "Maybe I picked the wrong angry, young man this day."

"You do not understand. His mother was murdered by my enemies. What if something were to happen and I'm not there to protect him?"

This time, the old man grabbed his stick and lightly hit Kenshi on the top of his head with it. "Leave him with someone capable then, you fool!"

Despite his blindness, Kenshi blinked several times in disbelief from underneath his bandanna. He was torn in between the desire to laugh out loud at the man's childish ways, and the urge to treat him in kind: thinking how all it would take would be a single flick of his finger to send Yeshe flying out from the temple. The children would be beside themselves at the hilarity of it.

A sly smile threatened to creep up on his features - but he put that thought on hold for a while.

"He's my child! You're insane to think I'll leave him in another's care just for the sake of tradition!" Kenshi instead shot back, indignant.

As seemed routine for him, the old monk began to laugh out loud.

For several moments that was the only sound echoing in the chamber. Then, despite himself, Kenshi too found himself grinning in good humour – thinking he would cherish the memory of this crazy, old man for a long time.

"Ahh, dear boy. All this was to allay your first concern," began Yeshe, as his mirth subsided. "Never think of yourself unworthy. There are plenty undeserving of fatherhood, but only a blind fool cannot see the love you have for your child." Yeshe reached out and patted the swordsman on the shoulder, and then suddenly paused, his eyes widening as he awkwardly glanced at Kenshi, realising the words he just spoke. "Pardon the pun," he muttered, embarrassed.

"You love playing dangerously, don't you?" Kenshi questioned, amused.

"At my prime age of 84, it's all about living wild, and dying young, baby! Let me go get my motorcycle and drive off in the sunset now!" croaked the old man with a playful wink. Kenshi could not help but chuckle at the response.

A small comfortable silence fell in between the two, as the wind picked up outside.

"The tides of time, change Kenshi. But some things are eternal. The love of a father is one of them," Yeshe said, breaking the silence. "As eternal, as a plant growing up from the ground to become a mighty oak. But a lot of people miss something…"

Kenshi furrowed his brows slightly. "What is that?"

"We all pause to admire the mighty oak, but we dare not dwell on what it once was: A hapless little seed, ripped from the bosom of its fruit, and buried in the cold, hard earth. Ahh – the insignificant seed, so beautiful in its young, innocent way…" beamed the monk, before continuing.

"The thing is, Kenshi, the seed adapts – learns to fight, and in the process, completely shatters itself. But… look at what it becomes in its stead," Yeshe urged, with the enthusiasm and awe of a child. "A life force in itself, useful to others as well. And as it grows, more people come to admire it, to make use of it, until it bears its own fruit, and the process repeats itself…"

"Now, all this rambling isn't for nothing, young man. You tell me, has any one asked a mighty oak if his planter was a devil?"

"I… don't really talk to trees, but no, I guess."

Yeshe raised his stick again, but this time Kenshi caught it before it founds its mark in his belly. "Honestly, how old do you think I am?"

"A little over twelve. Around Jamyang's age," mused Yeshe thoughtfully. "Now don't you trivialise my philosophy!" he scolded with a frown. For a second, Kenshi actually did feel like a young schoolboy, as he tried to control his laughter – but he disciplined himself and focused on the monks' words.

"I know where this is going, old man."

"You may have heard of this analogy before, but you haven't understood it at all. My point is – everyone suffers hardships, Kenshi. We are all ripped apart, broken, shattered to pieces in our own ways. Sometimes, we put ourselves in that position, sometimes others do it for us. But once we grow, our outcome as a whole is certainly greater than the sum of our parts."

"I _know_, Yeshe," replied Kenshi, earnest yet slightly impatiently. "Though I wouldn't wish it even on an enemy, but I learnt all this the hard way once I was blinded."

"Ahh – but you are wrong, my child. You are yet, still a little seedling, Kenshi. As is your little boy," the monk answered kindly. "Should you end up parting from your son, know so, that you will burying both, him _and_ yourself into the ground. It will be cold, it will be dark and you will be utterly alone. But you will survive – and it will make both of you stronger than you can ever imagine."

A small silence fell in between the two, before Kenshi spoke, sombre.

"Takeda will hate me for it, though. Leave him aside, _I_ will hate myself for doing that to him. He doesn't yet know of his mother's death. He would need me when he finds out…"

"It will be difficult, undoubtedly. But rest assured - the heart of a father is at ease, if his son is content. No matter how far away he is, swordsman. You are new to fatherhood, but trust the father's heart that beats inside your chest. His safety will be your solace. And who knows… maybe one day, your son will find that the same devil of a father that once seemingly forsook him, was in fact, a guardian angel in disguise."

Kenshi nodded seriously, seeing the wisdom in the old man's words despite his earlier rambling.

"Maybe there is a brain underneath all that… Never mind. You're bald. Forget I said anything," Kenshi smirked, diffusing the tension in the air.

"I knew there'd be a mouth as sharp as your sword, in there!" The older man gave a crackle of laughter as he stood up, gathering his robes about him and leaned on his walking stick.

"Don't you worry, Takahashi Kenshi. Think about it, and make a sound decision. And in the meantime – ahh, curse my memory! Now where did I park my motorcycle?"

He chuckled softly, as the older man shuffled away from the chamber. Kenshi nodded to himself and returned back to meditating. He had a lot to think about, but was strangely optimistic after his talk with Yeshe.

* * *

_Red Dragon Hideout_

_Unknown Location_

It throbbed and flowed in waves of a foreign energy, one of its own kind; enticing, calling his name, beckoning him to come forth, taste the throes of untold power that it promised it would grant him.

'_Only those truly worthy can become the vessel…'_

Mavado resisted. It took him every ounce of his will power, every fibre of his being to walk away from it. Eventually he was able to conquer the sheer desire to let it rule him, enslave him.

'_In time, you shall. First, finish your work…'_

The thought had him seething with rage. The blind swordsman had gotten away, again - slipped from right beneath his fingers, like the slippery, pathetic worm that he was. Him, and his dirty, bastard child. Worthless as they were, they pinched Mavado like a thorn he couldn't retrieve – harmless in its insignificance, but with enough power to make life miserable for now.

'_Lord Daegon commands it… Let him have the first taste, before you revel in its energies…'_

Ahh… Lord Daegon. The riddle, inside a mystery, enclosed in an enigma. Never seen, never heard – but his presence is felt, the spirits he commends glaring right into the heart and soul of his followers. He had seen in the blind swordsman as a potential vessel – one that was perfectly capable of fulfilling the Red Dragon's creed. There was no other like him. None as brutal, as doggedly tenacious, as ruthless in his applications, as Takahashi Kenshi. He fought and killed exquisitely - without a shred of fear, remorse or care.

He fought his battles with incredible discipline. As if everything in the universe ceased to exist for him, apart from his opponent. Every move was as graceful as it was merciless; perfected by decades' of training, and executed with the ease of an expert, who knew his skill was unsurpassable.

As mechanically as a machine would. All of Kenshi's conscious thoughts would be locked down in some impenetrable part of his being. That had to be the case, given how he had managed to evade Daegon's omnipotent eye. Until Hao got lucky.

Hsu Hao. He had done well recently. Perhaps, he could be rewarded as such; perhaps his bloodline could be tested on, in Takahashi's stead.

Mavado immediately frowned. The thought displeased him. Hao was not Kenshi. He couldn't be careless at this point.

No matter, only time would tell. Of course, he had a job to do first. He could not help but allow himself a malicious grin; knowing that Kenshi's son, would be the key to his undoing. The swordsman had unknowingly, made his job even easier for him.

* * *

_Near Mount Gephel,_

_Lhasa, Tibet_

_China_

**_Later that evening_**

Atop the serene, lush green hills, sat a blazing, golden inferno.

The temple burned with a relentless furor, never witnessed before in the region. The screams and cries of the resident villagers echoed in the clear mountain air, as did the crackle of flames that enveloped the once-peaceful little town that had lent refuge to the Takahashis.

All up until now. It was as if judgement day had arrived early.

Panting, Kenshi ran with the boy in tow. He had had no destination in mind, nor did he have a back-up plan. He was simply stunned to the point of numbness – his limbs seemed to move out from their volition: and all he knew was that he had to get away from this place, before the Red Dragon deducted that he'd escaped from their dastardly clutches, yet again.

This time, he registered in some corner of his mind, that this was Hsu Hao's doing. First came the air attacks, then the molotov cocktails. No stealth, no subtlety about it. Kenshi knew it well – the attack was wanton, brazen and careless. Hao was deliberately conspicuous in his ways; a by-product of his jealousy of the higher-ups in the Red was none of Mavado's methodical planning in it; just an all-out brutal onslaught against a small city, in order to hunt one man.

Takeda, dragged himself along, stumbling and falling – only to be propped up by his father's unceremonious pulls. He normally would have cried in pain, as his arms were nearly dislocated from his sockets in the process; but the physical pain paled in comparison to the raw, absolute hatred he felt for the man who, by whatever stroke of bad luck, sired him.

Kenshi had ran without as much as a seconds' worth of pause, for several miles, until he arrived at a clearing, tucked away in the shadow of a nearby hill. He had some vague idea that he was closer to the dirt-road that would take them to the nearest city – and thus, decided to catch his breath. The village near Mount Gephel was still ablaze, although the distance in between them had eased off the screams – replacing it in fact, with a deathly silence. Kenshi let go of Takeda's hand, and almost collapsed on his knees. He desperately gulped in the cold mountain air, as it burned a fire of its own kind inside his lungs, as rivulets of sweat poured down his face.

Takeda too breathed deeply, clenching his fists and glaring at his father with a fury he had never before felt in his entire life. He heard the voices ringing in his head from merely minutes ago, at the temple...

'_Jamyang, hold on! My father's coming!'_

'_Tell him to hurry, Takeda! I can't hold on-'_

"You…" he growled, nostrils flaring, shaking with rage. "You're-not-my-father…" he paused, before shrieking: "You're a MONSTER!"

Kenshi heard the words, but he felt nothing. He prayed it was merely the shock of it all, that he had some semblance of humanity left to at least acknowledge the wrong he did.

'_There's no time, son!'_

'_But Jamyang-'_

'_Don't argue with me!'_

'_He's hurt! He can't get out, he'll die, dad! You have to do something!'_

'_Takeedaaaa! HELP!'_

_Just as the Tibetan boy yelled, Takeda was swept off his feet by his father – as he kicked and screamed in his arms._

'_Let go of me, Dad! I have to help him! Let me go! NO!'_

'_HELP! COME BACK! PLEASE, AAARGH!'_

If fate was kind to him, the boy would be dead by now. An innocent, young boy who only wanted to play football with Takeda: killed, burned to crisp, and while the warrior deliberately did nothing to save him.

Yes, the boy was someone's son. Yes, it could have even been his_ own_ son.

But it wasn't.

Thus, Kenshi felt no remorse. The last time he had been this callous, was before he was blinded. He may have been able to defeat the arrogance that had usually cloaked such indifference, but the sheer will to kill or desert without a glance back, was evidently, still very much a part of how Takahashi Kenshi conducted his affairs.

Though he did retain some sense, some consciousness of the abnormality of his sentiments, he knew that consciousness alone, meant nothing.

And by God, he loathed himself in all entirety for it.

"I had no choice, Tak-"

Suddenly, Takeda felt a surge of anger burst through him; the suppression of confusion and fear of the past few days manifesting itself in a senseless rage he rained down on his father.

"YOU had no choice?! JAMYANG had no choice! You could have easily saved him! I've seen you do it, how could you be so _cruel_?!" His voice broke, and tears streamed down his face. Images flashed right before his eyes; the same ruddy boy, with the gray eyes and wide smile – one moment, playing joyfully with him, the next: yelling, crying with fear, begging to be saved, as his injured form was enveloped in a singular, deadly flare from the burning temple.

The Tibetan boy had screamed a blood-curdling scream, one that had caused the hair at the back of Kenshi's neck to rise up in terror. It still echoes in the swordsman's ears. Save for a weak whimper, Takeda had suddenly gone slack in his arms – seeing his friend burn and die in front of his eyes.

How could the swordsman fault the boy when he was absolutely right? There was not a shadow of doubt about it. Kenshi had abandoned him and ran with Takeda, purely out of selfishness.

Takeda didn't deserve to see any of that. He was just a ki-

The swordsman was immediately shoved to his side, a sudden lack of balance sending him crashing to the ground. He was mildly surprised at his own son's aggression, but the thought died as soon as he had realised it.

"You disgust me! I wish you'd have never come! You LIAR! MURDERER!" Takeda screamed, punching him with his small fists in the chest. Kenshi barely felt the weak blows, but he did nothing either to stop it.

Inside he felt utterly hollow – as if his son's words were ricocheting and echoing within this empty contained that was his body, but there was no soul left to absorb, or sanity left to heed them.

The only word he could think from his benumbed mind to describe his action, was cowardice.

A child perished in a horrifying death, while he had been too _cowardly_ – to do anything to save him. He could have done it. Hell, he _should_ have done it! But…

"I hate you! You're not my father! You can NEVER be my father! I HATE YOU!"

Fatherhood? Yeshe had been wrong. Kenshi did not deserve to be called _a human _for all his heartless apathy.

'_What… have I become?'_

In the madness of the that moment, where the child rained down his fists onto his unresponsive father, where the swordsman's mind reeled from the events of the days before, and with the stench of smoke and death still permeating from the duo - Takahashi Kenshi finally made the decision.

* * *

And we're done! :D

To be very, very honest - I think I rushed it a little. I did not want this to go over a certain word limit, and I just felt it was important to focus on the developments rather than plain descriptions as I was doing before. Please do let me know what you think about this pace, so I can plan the next chapter accordingly :)

Apart from that - I still literally can't believe how good it feels to write MAVADO of all people! X_X :'D I can't wait when I give him a proper role in all this, but I'll send a cake your way if you can guess what he's talking about here xD

Also - I don't really know where I got the idea of a badass, smooth-talking, motorcycle-riding Buddhist monk, but I just loved writing Yeshe xD

Also a heads up - "A riddle inside a mystery enclosed in an enigma" are not my words.. Winston Churchill said something to this effect when describing the Russian national interest as a predicative for pacing foreign policy during the Cold War. That's where my IR major came into play ;)

Whatever you liked, disliked, think could be done better, or just want to tell me how I did - please feel free to review and let me know! Thanks again, and as always, enjoy! :)


	8. Of Trials and Tribulations IV

Hello everyone! I'm back with a (relatively) quicker update! :D

So a head's up - this is finally where I get to introduce my OC! :3 I'm actually pretty excited about this chapter, and I sincerely hope it doesn't disappoint - but apart from that.. This is finally the point where Kenshi reaches the Shirai Ryu! There's a bit of action as well, but tons of focus on Kenshi (because unlike Takeda, he hasn't erupted at any point yet so far.. until...)

I'll leave you all to figure the rest out :'D

As always, my round of thank yous to: **BrutusSilentium, PurpleFlowerBerry, PunkRoseBlitz, Poe's Daughter, Hell-On-Training-Wheels, iceangelmkx **and** RoseScytheElysium** for reviewing. I truly appreciate you all taking out the time to write out to me - it is highly encouraging and I love you all! *spreads candies, chocolate fudge cake and coke to everyone!* :'D

Without any further ado...

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one, apart from the OCs I introduce into this, whom I may or may not be willing to kill off by the time this is over. Toodles.**

* * *

**The Takahashi Family Saga**

**Of Trials and Tribulations **

**IV**

* * *

_Jinnah International Airport_

_Karachi, Pakistan_

_March 1999_

Kenshi gritted his teeth and fumed, thinking of a way to explain himself more appropriately to the stubborn officer.

"Look, _sir_. This is my _son_ – I am not smuggling him in, for God's sake! I spoke with Colonel Akram, and he _affirmed_ I'll be picked up from he-"

"Naik Faraz, ease off. Our guests have had a long journey. I'll handle this from here," a feminine voice smoothed over in the foreign tongue.

Faraz raised an eyebrow, and scowled the woman, who had now crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently, knowing that his antics were a mere waste of time.

"Well, well…" mocked the Naik, as he shuffled his papers, leaned back in his seat and inhaled deeply on his cigarette. "Are we far too beneath you to receive a prior word of such arrivals now, Captain?"

"I didn't fly all the way from the GHQ to have you sass me around, Naik," she warned. Her soft, almost bored tone could deceive the visitors into thinking they were discussing something as trivial as the weather – yet a stony glare gave away her intent.

The officer puffed impudently for a moment, but then shook his head and gave in. He was in no mood to argue – it was humid, he was tired, and his shift was about to end anyway. He had no business concerning himself with the business of the General HQ. With the typical bored shrug of the apathetic bureaucracy he was part of, Faraz slammed a few stamps, and handed the landing authorisation to Kenshi.

"Welcome to Pakistan," he murmured half-heartedly, burying himself in more paperwork. The swordsman merely smirked in reply, as he put a hand on his son's shoulder and walked up to the captain.

"You have my thanks, Captain."

"None required, Takahashi Kenshi," she returned. "We got the message in time, and I was assigned the case. Although…" she paused, glancing quizzically at the child that accompanied him, surprised at his presence. "You do have some explaining to do, _obviously_," she concluded, referring to the young boy. She smiled wanly at him.

Takeda did not respond back at first, but did get a good look at her. Tall, broad-shouldered but lean. Wheatish skin tone, balanced, angular features with black hair secured in a ponytail. Some might consider her attractive, but truthfully, the boy did not really care. He was fatigued from the constant travelling, and to him, she looked the same as everyone else in this foreign land. All, except for the eyes, which shone brilliantly, and deeply – the colour of the desert.

The captain was dressed in the local civilian clothing – a cotton tunic shirt that ended below the knees, over slim black pants, and a thin, black scarf lying over one shoulder, as if a mere afterthought. Yet her upright posture, curt tone and sleeves folded to the forearms indicated she only meant business. The only oddity remained a pair of black leather gloves she wore on her hands – which seemingly had no place given the humid, March weather, and her traditional attire.

The same gloved hand, now, was stretched in front of her, an attempt at getting a handshake out from the boy. Takeda bit his lip, and glanced at his father, before angrily averting his gaze and shaking hands with the woman.

"And how are we today, young man?"

"I'm fine, Miss…"

"Captain Jehan Ara." Her grip was firm, her eyes wide and trusting. "Don't worry, you're in safe hands now."

The comment sounded sincere, but Takeda could not help shake off his suspicions. The boy knew she too would be a fighter of some sort – Takeda had now realised that was kind of circle his father associated with – but doubted if he could truly trust her.

He closely regarded Kenshi; the swordsman was subtly alert as always in his demeanour, which came from being blind for so long. But he appeared somewhat relaxed – visibly so, as the boy judged from his visage. It perplexed the boy, and thus he maintained his silence.

"Do you have a route for us?" Kenshi inquired, this time in Japanese.

"Yes," the captain switched over to the Asian language, though speaking slowly, as if not very well-versed in it. She began to walk, leading the way to their conveyance. "It's a day's journey by train, from here to the capital. After that, I'll fly you to Gilgit-Baltistan, near mount K2. You will have plenty of time to replenish your energies until then – I'll be hearing the rest from _you_, later."

Kenshi sighed with relief. They would be travelling directly through in-land, in a region where the Red Dragon had not yet had much success in infiltrating – straight north toward the Shirai Ryu. It was the clearest, and under the national army's protection, the safest leg of his nightmare journey so far.

"I appreciate it, Captain."

* * *

The Takahashi were on-board a railway train bound for the capital, Islamabad. They had been treated to their first fulfilling, proper meal since Tibet – from where Kenshi had caught a last minute commercial flight to Karachi, via Kathmandu, Nepal. The journey had been tense – none of them slept, nor ate properly, and barely spoke to another apart from conveying the necessities. The tensed exchange of the duo following Lhasa, alongside being on the run constantly for the past five days had left the Takahashis weary, and cautious, in their own ways. Kenshi rued putting his Takeda in a position where he had to grow up so fast, but could not think of any way he could have averted it in his situation. As it was, he was mentally exhausted from all that had transpired these days – and was thus, unable to think straight at that point.

Getting to the Shirai Ryu had transcended from a mere goal, to a matter of life and death for him.

Presently, the swordsman donned the local _qameez_ and trousers over his armoured suit, to better blend in. The accompanying Pakistani captain, had armed herself with a gun holster over her shoulder, which she concealed under her scarf, now wrapped around her shoulders. In another compartment, an additional force ordained by Colonel Akram, was present, all in civilian attire – to protect the Takahashis.

The shadow of death looming over since they haphazardly left Japan, had abated a little – especially now as they hurtled towards their destination.

"I still cannot read you, Ara," Kenshi said in a tired tone, leaning back until his back was up against the compartment wall. He sipped his tea from a paper cup and felt his tense shoulders relax.

The statement made the captain uneasy. She had perhaps talked to the swordsman before maybe twice, or thrice – all in her capacity as a military official. She knew she'd been a subject of interest for the SF years ago, and was forced to go through multiple tests, including the swordsman's telepathic checks, to see if she a representative of her army was capable for serving the SF.

She had passed, but ultimately denied the invitation, much to her superiors' annoyance. Since then, Jehan had remained wary of both, the top-hawks of the Pakistan army and the SF's advances.

"Maybe you're losing your touch?" the captain questioned cautiously, taking a sip from her own cup.

Kenshi scoffed impatiently as he leaned to pat his son's back, who lay curled, fast asleep beside his father. The boy immediately tensed under his touch, but did not wake up. Kenshi hesitantly removed his hand.

"You think I'd joke about this?" He looked up, and turned his attention toward the female. New to the eerie blindfolded stare, Noor felt goosebumps rise on her skin. She immediately diverted her gaze.

"I see the silhouette of your powers – _stronger_ than before, if you will. Yet they remain … eclipsed. Held back. Combined with the mental barrier-"

"Weren't you supposed to be blind?" she quipped, wiping down her gun with the end of her scarf, nonchalant.

"Clearly, you missed the gaping hole in my blindfold," he deadpanned, sarcastically.

"Ahh, well," she smirked; "Perhaps I'm a mentally-challenged idiot with nothing worth reading in my mind? Now there's a thought for you."

"Hmm… Didn't know Pakistan Army had recruited the lone Saurian, Reptile," Kenshi mocked, feigning an oblivious tone.

She narrowed her eyes at him, annoyed. "Now you're just insulting me."

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," shrugged Kenshi. "But you are definitely evading, captain."

Following the Netherrealm war, the Special Forces had allied with elite specialists of various top-ranking armies across the world, with the aim of bolstering their forces, discovering new talent as well as forming liaisons, especially on issues that concerned the safety of Earthrealm.

Two years ago, Jehan, then at twenty years of age, had been training with the local Army, and had exhibited a brilliant knack at devising and executing emergency evacuations singlehandedly. Especially so, in the heat of battle – saving multitudes of lives.

The SF had recognised her tactical talents in the military, even altering their SOPs to emulate her more efficient actions. However, for most part, they had been interested in her latent radiative and healing abilities – the manipulation of light and plasma in its various capacities, that was infrequent, uncontrolled yet deadly in kombat.

The instances were rare, and mysterious. Kenshi had suspected a foreign lineage from her genetics, as the cryomancers. Cage mused that she may have been part of the same ancient warrior-race as the actor himself – except with alternate powers in a differing part of the globe. She had not presented herself to Raiden yet, for evaluation.

But the biggest obstacle in her own development was Noor herself. She had adamantly refused to acknowledge her powers, to brandish them or develop them in any form, much to the SF and OIA's chagrin.

In two years, the attitude had not changed the slightest.

"No, that would be you," she replied tonelessly, hinting at the explanation she felt she was owed far more than the current conversation.

'_Not a moment's worth of peace,_

_And, no solution to this unrest,_

_O Soulmate…'_

The lyrics of the traditional, folk track blasted from outside, filling the air in the compartment with its mournful, trance-inducing tune. The captain groaned with ire. "Oh for the love of God. When will they get over this?" she muttered to herself in her mother tongue.

The banter came naturally, given their affiliations with allied, yet competing militaries. Nevertheless, Kenshi decided to explain the situation to her; if he was in her position, he'd want the same.

"Let's just say a deep, undercover espionage mission went horribly wrong."

"Didn't take you for a petty spy, Takahashi."

"It was more of a favour than anything. Surely, you must have heard of the Red Dragon?"

The captain straightened up immediately, alert. "You were infiltrating them _alone_? You must have had a death wish."

"A death wish? With an eight-year old son to think about? Didn't take _you_ to be that uncreative, captain."

Noor gritted her jaw, but let the snide remark slide by. She instead, sighed deeply – as if exhausted from hearing the same old thing, again and again.

"We've all been to hell and back these past few years. You'd think we'd have learned to set aside our differences; protect this piece of land we call home. But what do we get? More crime, more violence…"

"Isn't that how it has always been, though?" Kenshi returned, shrugging vainly, before he continued. "The Red Dragon, though, are more than just any crime syndicate. Their dogma, M.O. – everything is shrouded in the dark arts. Sorcery, magic – a creed supposedly 'ordained' by their leader, Daegon. He was my target."

"Did you manage to get hold of him?"

Kenshi scowled. "No, although I had come very close. He had ventured as far as expressing his trust in me through his…. '_agents_,' so to speak. That's when a certain, over-ambitious lackey found me out."

"And so you ran… and they targeted your son to get to you, instead," the captain completed for him.

It was the second time that the swordsman telepathically checked to confirm Takeda was asleep.

"His name is Takeda. I- apparently had him with a woman I met around ten years ago, in Thailand – while I was stationed there as a free agent for the SF. Suchin… she…never told me about him…" his throat constricted, and he felt drowning in the sudden wave of melancholy that washed over him. Following his fallout with the boy, he had found it even harder to keep a cap on his thoughts about Suchin.

"Somehow, the Red Dragon found out, and Sonya barely got a lead in the nick of time about my family…" he trailed off.

Noor suspected the worst, but she could not find the heart to voice it out. "I hope she's alright."

Kenshi bit the inside of his cheeks, and tried to clear his mind. He failed, and could only shake his head in despondency, as his only reply.

The sound of the rocking train along the stretch of land, filled the silence that hung in between them for a few moments.

"My deepest condolences," Jehan answered, solemnly – feeling a chill go down her spine, forgotten, forbidden memories resurfacing in her mind. "I can understand…"

Kenshi allowed a few more moments to pass, realising he could not voice out the anguish of losing Suchin to anyone, ever. He selfishly guarded his grief, knowing that it gave him a greater reason to continue his work, more than anything. His honour was at stake – once he assures the boy's safety, then vengeance will be his, and his alone.

"What… what of the boy now?"

A sharp pain went through Kenshi's entire being, as if an arrow had pierced the swordsman's heart.

"I can't risk his life any further," Kenshi answered, his voice barely above a whisper, feeling alienated from his being. He bowed his head and nodded lowly to himself, as if convincing the voices of doubt in his mind. "He'll stay with a… friend. Until I sort this all out."

"It could take you years, Takaha-"

"So be it."

The captain looked at him as if he was insane. "And what credibility does this friend of yours have? What's to say he won't be targeted by the Red Dragon as well?"

"Hanzo can handle them. The Shirai Ryu never run from a fight."

The captain pursed her lips, as she thought over the words. The reformed Shirai Ryu, had been granted a designated place at the border of the Sino-Pakistan border, at the express recommendation of the Special Forces – especially Takahashi Kenshi. A deal had been brokered; as long as the Hasashi Hanzo and his clan kept to their promise of protecting Earthrealm and did not interfere with the local military, they would be allowed to stay there. It was all finalised by her superior, Colonel Akram himself. And since then, she'd heard nothing more of it, until now.

"Your son is bound to pick up a decent fighting skill or two there."

Kenshi nodded, morose. "A mere added bonus. This is the only way I can protect him…"

She could feel the decision did not come easy for the swordsman, and decided not to pursue the topic any further.

It was a long while, before Kenshi deeply inhaled, and spoke:

"The evil out there knows no bounds, and more often than not, it strikes closer to home than we'd like to think. Just as it happened with me. Say yes, captain. Train with us, hone your powers; you _ought_ to help Earthrealm in this."

"I sympathise with you, sir. But at least you've a name, a goal to fight for," she replied softly, despite levelling an ardent gaze at his blindfolded face. "You cannot accuse me of not helping Earthrealm. I help save those 'meaningless' lives that the authorities love to downplay as mere _collateral damage_. I help those who cannot put a name or a face to their enemies."

Deep down, Kenshi knew he couldn't discount those words. How could he? The swordsman was never the one for mindless optimism, and he certainly did not entertain any delusions about the nature of Earthrealm's conflicts. At its core, it was an inter-realm power-struggle, and one's survival meant another's destruction. Violence and bloodshed wreaked on another, became the means of one's own salvation.

His time as a disciple with the Red Dragon, had taught him that much. Security was just one facet of the aftermath of inter-realm conflicts. The damage wreaked, the countless killed – all provided recruitment grounds for such criminal organisations. A measly pay, two meals a day and a false promise of being reunited with the deceased; it did not take much to sway the desperate, those who had lost everything to join such evil causes.

All while the local governments continued to demonise such individuals, spending almost entirely on the militaries, depriving the masses of decent healthcare, education and rehabilitation. The grunts in the army slaving away, while the top dogs minted the money. Good melted into evil, and evil coalesced into good – until there was no way of ascertaining death as a calamity, or a mere statistic; no way of distinguishing in between a murderer and a saviour.

The evil cycle would continue, as it had since time immemorial. And baring the handful of fighters who have any say in the realm's matters, the untold struggles of humanity, of the countless masses, would go on unacknowledged.

The captain definitely had a point.

"I cannot argue with that logic, Ara," Kenshi acquiesced. The captain merely nodded sadly in response. "But my point still stands. You're not like the rest of humanity-"

"Oh, please," the captain cut in, rolling her eyes.

Kenshi continued as if he had not heard her. "If it's your past that plagues you, and is a hindrance to your development; then know so, that you are not the only one trying to make peace with your guilt…"

The woman tried to dispel the images of the tragic day, years ago, when she'd lost her family in an insignificant _oni_ attack that had wiped out her entire city, leaving her the sole survivor. She placed her elbows on her knees, hanging her head low – and that was when her gaze subconsciously fell on her gloved hands.

Glimpses of a happy childhood began to flash in her mind, where her mother had embraced her as a child, comforted her, and implored her to believe in herself, her strength - an eternity ago.

What followed next was a silenced scream, and an image of her mother's dismembered body.

She jerked her head to a side, as if trying to shake the thought away, and felt blood seep into her mouth, from where she had bit on her cheek too harshly.

The moment, then passed – the compartment slowly swimming back into focus. She clenched her eyes shut, feeling the familiar knots of tension form at the base of her shoulders.

'_What good is a man's worth?_

_He has it one day, he loses it another.'_

"What is guilt but the realisation that the only obstacle in between you and your path, is you?" the captain spoke, in a far-away voice.

From beneath his blindfold, Kenshi's eyes widened at her words, as he slowly let them sink in. It was true, and the realisation hit him in multiple ways – the most profound of which, was his current predicament – the thought of leaving his child with Hanzo, a former wraith. His own flawed decisions, his own mistakes costing him the one chance he had of raising a family, of a chance at happiness. A respite from the dark world of pain, blood and terror that he had made his own.

Kenshi found himself detached from the present moment, and thrown into the pits of his own mind, brimming with the dark thoughts he had deliberately suppressed, up to now.

Did he not deserve any better? Did he not deserve to raise his own son? One moment, he had found himself uncomfortable sensing how the boy idolised him in his mind. Following that, he'd become _'papa-san'_ to the boy, somehow managing to make some space for himself in the boy's heart. And now…

'_I hate you! You're not my father! You can NEVER be my father! I HATE YOU!'_

The words replayed in his mind mercilessly, and every time they did so, he felt a fresh sense of shame wash all over him.

Fate had bested him once again, except this time, the loss could not be made up for. Kenshi would have willingly traded his sight a thousand times, in a thousand different lifetimes, if only he could reverse these developments, save his family,

Undoubtedly. Everything came back in a circle and ended with him. He was the obstacle, he was the hindrance. His blindness wasn't his only curse, his entire existence seemed to be wretched as well.

And those he had made the mistake of loving the most, had ultimately paid the price.

"You've no inclination how close to home you've hit with that, Captain."

"I… I shouldn't have-" Jehan stopped short, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You probably didn't deserve any of that-"

"Don't. You're absolutely right, though," Kenshi sighed, and shook his head. "We… We think, we tell ourselves, and believe that we have silenced the parts of us that feed on misguided glory, hubris, avarice… That we have disciplined them; that we have _civilised_ our own souls; overcome the greedy little self, let our struggles define us… fool ourselves into thinking that happiness, is only ours for the taking…" he mused, voice far-off.

'_Leave my faults aside,_

_You are not of the insane…'_

"We're wrong," both of them spoke simultaneously, voicing the same conclusion, despite the differing manners of reaching it. The swordsman stroked his son's hair gently, while the female directed her gaze back to the passing view of the window.

"Pain, suffering and madness," she murmured. "We think we can harness it? That our capacity to think, to affirm, to negate – to rationalise will deliver us?" she suddenly turned towards Kenshi, animated – holding out her shaking gloved hands. "These hands can save no one, Takahashi. There _is_ no deliverance. We are specks of dust enslaved to this empire of the universe. Nothing more…"

'_Not a moment's worth of peace,_

_And, no solution to this unrest,_

_O Soulmate…'_

Kenshi may have been unable to access her mind, but he was still intelligent enough to analyse her words. A profound understanding of the practical world, suffered from the very bottom, belied her thoughts. The voices in the Sento agreed.

"I know plenty who'd agree to that," he replied.

The captain huffed cynically. "Guess it just doesn't take too much to find a demon sitting in some corner of your mind, waiting to rear its ugly head, huh?"

Kenshi exhaled soundly through his nose. "Demons, angels, spirits – they are all different shades, different manifestations, of the same person," Kenshi returned, sombre as he reclaimed control over his thoughts. "Recognise them for what they are, and then silence them. Move on, forwards. In the end, all that matters is how well you walk through the fire."

Ara took in the words, and considered mulling over them for a while. It then it dawned on her that it had literally been years since someone afforded advice to her, purely for the sake of it. She was not sure what to make of it.

"Why would-" she paused. She then straightened her back and glared at the swordsman. "I'll be blunt. You're not allied with the SF the way I am with my army. What stake would you possibly have in telling me all this?"

Kenshi narrowed his eyes underneath the blindfold, almost amused at the response – thinking he may not even need to read her mind at all. She was young, gutsy, albeit tormented, but utterly predictable in her angst and distrust. Just another kid who think they've seen it all, known it all.

And here he'd thought such kind was a dying breed.

"None whatsoever," replied Kenshi, with a smirk. "Duty for duty's sake. Nothing more on my part, I'm afraid. As should be the case with you as well."

"I'm _fine_ as I am, Takahashi. And I know where my duty lies," she spoke forcibly, trying to keep a reign on her anger.

"You don't." Kenshi brought his feet to the ground, and turned his body toward Noor's direction. The captain sat with arms folded, her gaze deliberately fixed away from him.

"You're a survivor, Captain," he spoke gravely. "Maybe you died a million deaths inside, maybe your whole world collapsed while you could do nothing to save it… If my predicament is any indication, then know that you are certainly _not_ the only one suffering; stop using your misery to justify your inaction."

The woman looked up at him, with eyes wide, caught off-guard momentarily.

"You sit across me, with a heart that still dares to beat, and a mind that still works. For whatever reason that eludes us all, you made it, captain. And you owe it to yourself to never forget that."

"I am just one person. I can do nothing…" Jehan murmured, confused.

'_As am I…'_

Takeda deeply sighed in his sleep, prompting the depressive, black thoughts about the future to descend on Kenshi's mind like demons, once more.

Another day, another battle.

The captain's pager went off, breaking the heavy, uncomfortable silence that hung in between the two. She checked her notification: the colonel wanted an update. She would obviously give him one, leaving out this particular conversation, of course. Noor got up from her seat and quietly walked to the door.

"We're all nothing; but you don't have to be. Do not forsake your choice. It's a luxury I'd certainly kill for at this point."

She paused at the doorway, and hung her head low, but did not turn back.

"You should try to rest for the next few hours. Let me know if you need anything."

And with that, she exited the compartment, unbeknownst of the swordsman who now felt his blindfold become wet from the tears he had himself held back for far too long.

* * *

**30 hours later**

_Skardu_

_Northern Areas, Pakistan._

_11.43am_

Takeda was a little green in the face – despite being supplied with the paper bags in case he became road-sick. The boy cursed himself for helping himself to a heavy, hot breakfast hours ago at the capital, where they had stayed for less than an hour as the Captain filled out her paperwork, attended a small briefing with the colonel, and resupplied. Changing from civilian clothing into proper army gear, the captain and her team had flown them to this remote city surrounded by numerous mountain ranges – the view of which had quite literally taken Takeda's breath away.

He had taken a liking to the captain – though she was curt with her commands to stay seated in the helicopter, she was friendly to him – at times, emanating an air of an elder sister more than an elite force personnel. Such as the instance when they landed at Skardu, she had bought him a localised cap for warmth over his jacket – square-shaped, with black velvet decorated with gold and colourful embroidery. The boy had smiled up at her in thanks for the first time in days.

Presently, the captain, together with her team, was tasked to transport the Takahashis to the Shirai Ryu base, at the very corner of the district, as well as the international border with China. As stunning as the raw mountain scenery was, the twisting roads and hilly climbs had left him feeling more than just merely nauseous.

"Are you sure we couldn't just fly to the temple, Captain?" Kenshi asked, reading his boy's discomfort while struggling to not vomit in the car himself. Unlike with his son, Ara remained wary of the swordsman, only speaking to him when she absolutely had to, strictly professional.

Except now. Having undertaken the harshest of elite training in the area, the captain was accustomed to the roads, and despite her earlier failings when navigating these roads, she found the Takahashis' discomfort amusing. "I promise I won't judge if either of you throw up. Just don't get my jeep dirty," she smirked.

Up ahead, the road was practically carved out from a rocky cliff, overlooking a deep chasm. Silver-gray rock loomed ahead, and surrounded the truck from all sides except for one – where a fenceless edge revealed an emerald green chasm, filled with hills and untouched mountain conifers.

Much to the boy's horror, there was a sharp right turn ahead.

"We're… we're gonna fall off the roaaaad-aaaargh!" shouted Takeda, horrified as the truck swerved, missing the edge by mere inches. "Oh GOD! That was too close!" His blue eyes widened to saucers as he turned back in the jeep, and stared down the cliff they had just passed.

Kenshi's heart thundered powerfully in his ears, though he fought the urge to grip his chest. "I swear at times like these, I'm glad I'm blind," muttered the swordsman, trying to level his breath.

"Relax now, ladies. We've been at it for an hour now, it'll be over before you kn-"

BOOM!

A large explosion echoed from the walls of the enclosed road; the trio felt a wave of blazing heat warming their backs to an uncomfortable degree.

Instinctively, Kenshi turned and jumped from the front seat to the back of the open-aired jeep, to be with his shaken son.

'_Not again… Please, no.. Not again…'_

He held the boy to his chest, and for the first time since Tibet, Takeda did not resist. Meanwhile, Captain Ara brought the vehicle to a screeching halt, and turned herself back to see what had happened.

The second jeep was no more to be seen.

"You two stay down!" ordered the captain, as she fished out her walkie-talkie and ran to the edge of the road.

She let out an oath in her mother tongue. She barely registered the cries and screams of her team, as they burned inside the flaming fireball of a vehicle, as it now hurtled down the chasm.

Jehan felt the communication device in her hand, and thought of radioing in her team – but realised how utterly futile the effort would be. The fall would kill four young, talented able-bodied soldiers, if the fire did not burn them to crisp already.

A second later, she felt something hit her in the left shoulder, inches above her heart – and she found herself on the ground, the very breath knocked out of her. It was only when she heard young Takeda cry out her name, did she feel the searing pain from the bullet.

Warm blood poured in from her shoulder, leaking into her army fatigues. Her head swam a little, but it was nothing she couldn't handle.

The captain expelled a shaky breath, her teeth bared as she slowly hoisted herself up on her elbows. Someone out there was evidently itching for a fight.

And now, they had _really_ pissed her off.

* * *

'_You surprise me, Hao. And here I was thinking you may not have had it in you…'_

Hao merely barked with laughter. "I warned you from the first day that the swordsman wasn't trustworthy, yet you would not hear it at all…"

'_A mistake, for which we all have paid dearly for. No matter. Who else better to finish this than the one who started it a-'_

"Not what I want to hear, Mavado!" suddenly roared Hao, feeling the smug satisfaction of catching his prey being replaced by a blinding fury he had no control over. "It is unfair that while I carry out the grunt's work, _you_ get to be the one to manage the real business," he sneered into the radio device.

'_Daegon ordained it so-'_

"Oh, the ruse won't work with me, boy," Hsu Hao answered back hotly. "When I return with the swordsman's head, I want my due. I shall be the one to taste it first! I will take the Red Dragon to glory!"

'_We will determine that once you accomplish your task, Hao. That is all I can promise you.'_

"Oh, I was merely informing, Mavado," laughed the Mongolian cynically, maliciously. "I have Takahashi Kenshi in my crosshairs this very moment. He and his bastard son, are as good as dead."

Hao cut off the communication, and went back into looking through his sniper rifle – situated far away from the Pakistan Army's tattered convoy. There he was, huddled over his son like a feeble animal. Hsu Hao allowed himself a deep snigger, the notions of the raw power he had only heard about burning bright in his mind's eyes, as he carelessly pulled the trigger.

The cult leader howled with frustration, when he realised he'd missed.

* * *

Kenshi placed two fingers at his temple, and allowed his spiritual vision to span out the entirety of the region, seeking out enemies.

He could tell there were more than twenty of them, hiding in the hills and the foliage – possibly more at another encampment. Red Dragon mercenaries, almost all of them. They had him cornered once again.

"That's it?! She's YOUR ally! Are you not gonna help her either?!" Takeda shot furiously at his father, regarding the swordsman with a hateful gaze.

The swordsman was caught in a conundrum. He couldn't desert his son alone, not even for a second – but he felt the need to go out and helped the downed captain.

Yet all his thinking came to a stop when he _felt_ a bullet whiz past close to his ear.

He swerved about, turning his attention to the direction it came from.

They were using silencers. Kenshi cursed internally.

"Takeda, listen to me," he whispered, whilst still turning his head about – seeking some form of hint, some indication of the enemy apart from the utter silence of the valley. He had come to absolutely abhor this game of cat and mouse.

"You stay down. No matter what happens, I want you to stay down. If you see me fall, then run. Don't look back, and don't even think about coming for me. Just run; as far as you can, and then some more. Do you understand?"

"But-but…"

"That's an order, son!"

He grabbed the boy's hand, and let him off the jeep, crouching beside the tyre. Takeda nodded his head, and stayed quiet as a lamb – feeling the odd mixture of nerves and adrenaline refresh him, instead of scaring him as it did earlier.

Kenshi then, motioned a hand forward, bringing it up slightly, and telekinetically lifted the jeep. As if going through the motion physically, he pushed at it mentally until it tilted sideways, into a cover of sorts, before landing it with a grunt onto the ground.

Barely a few seconds passed, and a torrential rain of bullets began to ricochet off the jeep's underside filling the air all around them with the clang of metal against metal. Takeda scurried in closer to his father, as Kenshi contemplated a plan of action. The woods were nearby, and seemingly clear of the Red Dragon, for now. Should he stay and fight? Should he let Takeda run in there first, while he aided the captain?

"Smart move, Takahashi!"

Takeda gaped as the female suddenly entered in their cover position, crouching and panting. She was covered in dust, bleeding but otherwise alright. Kenshi paused momentarily, alert, before letting out a silent sigh of relief.

"Y-You were shot! Just n-now!" Takeda stammered. It was a statement more than a question.

"Internal healing. My little curse, Takeda."

The captain merely snuck in a magazine into her Beretta and fished out a sub machine gun from a bag secured at the back of the jeep. Once her weapons were loaded, she showed Takeda a bloody bullet, before pocketing it her breast pocket.

"Another one for the collection," she winked and gave a lopsided grin while shaking strands of hair from her sand-coloured eyes. Takeda launched himself at her, enveloping her in as tight a hug as the eight year old could muster.

The captain awkwardly responded for a second, before breaking it off. "Later, soldier. We have to stay focused now," she spoke seriously to the child, as if his presence was important to their counter-attack efforts.

Takeda nodded fiercely.

"Around 20 of them, surrounding the basin – there may be snipers in the hills and the chasm," Kenshi supplied, bringing out the Sento, as it glowed a dangerous electric blue. "Our silence is luring them in. We ought to move in for the kill soon."

"Red Dragon, definitely. No one here would dare using a rocket launcher on an army convoy."

"Agreed. You try taking out the snipers, I'll take the-"

"No," returned the captain, as she sat up on her knees, and fired straight at the mercs, who had now began to close in on them in groups of four and five. The first wave, that was investigating the pool of blood from where the captain had fallen, were caught by surprise, and all fell to the short, accurate burst of the machine gun, like flies.

"More are bound to come, you can't handle them all alone!"

"T'is nothing," the captain calmly answered, as she reloaded, and scanned for more enemies. This time, a flash of electric blue beheaded the enemies in a singular, clean strike before she could even pull the trigger.

The awe of watching the famed telekinetic swordsman manipulate his katana was, however, short-lived. Immediately afterwards, she heard the ticking sound close by, a small object slowly grazing her right knee. She knew it was a grenade before she could look down to confirm it.

Kenshi heard it as well.

In an oddly synchronised fashion, both the adults launched into a sprint from their cover positions, with the father practically carrying his son sideways by his waist like a ragdoll. Almost simultaneously, the jeep exploded, sending the trio sailing into the air.

Takeda let out a small yell as he landed on his side, banging his head on the tarmac. Kenshi fell a few feet away, but quickly rolled on top of him, protecting him as the Red Dragon commenced firing on them once more. The captain shook her arm, letting the blood flow, and tilting her head in an angry nod, let out a burst from the submachine gun, relentless. She came to a crouch in front of Kenshi and his son, shooting with unparalleled accuracy and efficiency.

"You two, run!"

The small loss of concentration that came as she commanded the Takahashis, was punished with three bullets lodging into her – two in the right leg, and one dangerously close to her jugular, incapacitating the woman. She fell onto her hands, blood gushing in streams from the mouth and neck, eyes clenched shut.

Kenshi immediately summoned the strength to create another reflective force-field as he did so in Japan. The cerulean aura enveloped both the Takahashis as well as the injured captain, buying her enough time to put her healing energies to use. The swordsman slowly got up from his commando-crawl position over his son, holding both the temples with his fingers, until they felt the sunlight absorbed in a distinct electric blue colour, wash over them inside the orb.

All this time, the Sento danced in circles and arcs, incinerating any and all advancing enemies.

Takeda hid behind his father, as he was instructed before.

After a tense few minutes, Kenshi felt the mental strain of the effort hinder his efforts. The captain now, was sitting up, looking pale and feverish, but the skin around her neck slowly merged together, stemming the blood flow. Takeda watched in sheer horror as she slowly got up – he had never seen so much blood in all his life.

Kenshi was internally glad he had not seen his mother's last stand.

"Don't look, son," Kenshi rasped, sweat trailing down the side of his face.

"Takahashi…" Jehan breathed heavily, as she clutched her neck with one hand, retrieving a dual-grenade from her belt with the other. "Run into the woods – the trees will give you cover. Northeast, until you reach the base of the Himalayas. Around fifty or so miles. You'll find.. or rather…. Hasashi will find you."

"You won't be able to handle them al-"

"Someone told me that I'm a survivor," she replied her tone steady, as she looked deeply into the face of the blinded swordsman, clicking a fresh magazine in place.

She immensely respected him for having the heart to consider staying back, when he had family to protect. The captain wasn't so sure she could have done it so herself.

Nevertheless, it was a long hike to the Shirai Ryu; he would need his strength.

She felt mobility return to her right thigh, and figured she could move around with now. Securing their safety was her mission, she was not going to let herself become the hindrance.

"Go! God-willing, I'll see you on the other side."

The force-field erupted, sending four mercenaries hurtling to their doom down the chasm. The Sento, meanwhile, took out a sniper from the hills. In a flash of electric blue light, the sword returned to its owner, who sheathed it.

In the brief moment of respite, the trio ran toward the woods, where Jehan took cover behind a large tree. Kenshi paused, and held uninjured her shoulder in a tight grip – the gesture almost fatherly.

"I'm proud of you, captain. And indeed, you will."

And with that, he grabbed his son's hand and sprinted into the thick of the woods.

* * *

**_Dawn_**

_Unknown Location_

_Near Mount Godwin-Austen,_

_Sino-Pakistan border, Western Himalayas._

_March, 1999_

He was running. He was on the run again, as he had been since the past day; stopping only for a few moments' worth of breather when he felt he was ripping a tissue in his legs, or when the lack of breath almost put him on the verge of unconsciousness. Day, night, exhaustion, relief – the notions ceased to exist for Takahashi Kenshi in their entireties. All he was aware of was the need to reach the Himalayan temple, and to keep his son safe.

_'Almost there. Takeda. Takeda – for his sake. For his safety - just a few more miles…'_

The entire region that bordered China was a complex mix of valleys, and uneven terrain, where three mighty mountain ranges all combined in a natural backdrop that was untouched by the modern world. The remoteness and the difficulty of accessing the region was in part one of the reasons the Himalayan base had appealed so much to Hanzo Hasashi, as the Grandmaster set up the Shirai Ryu on a remote plateau, in view of the largest peaks of the world – blissfully isolated from the constrains of modernity.

'_The air is fresh, the terrain rugged: Takeda would grow strong here. My boy, my son. Hanzo would train you well…'_

Takeda had not spoken a word since they parted with the captain outside Skardu. Kenshi knew the boy was scared, exhausted himself – and desperately needed to be comforted. To be loved. To be held securely to the bosom, and told infinitely that it was alright; that none of this was his fault. But the enormity of his current task was simply too great. The telepath had failed to protect his son from many things, but at least he could try and guarantee the safety of his life…

_'Suchin died for this. Suchin died for him. Suchin died for me…'_

The thought of his lover teleported him back a decade – to the hills of Lampang. Suchin. Her hair falling in a thick, loose curtain over her shoulders. The shy, sly smile of a woman who knew the game, and its rules. Images, of a physical-spiritual nature, forged in his dreams flashed by: one moment, she was scolding him for thinking she could not take care of herself against a gang of thugs, while the swordsman played along purely in good humour – the first time he'd met her. The second, she was standing drenched in the rain, her chin jutting proudly, facing Dara and defying her, and all she stood to defend in her brazen, first romance. And then… sighing, crying, whimpering in the throes of maddening ecstasy – the fateful night when they'd consummated their union.

_'You were always a fearless woman. You stared into my abyss, and deeper yet, until you found me. Like a rare flower, spreading your sweetness to all and beyond… A kiss from a rose, from an eternity ago…'_

Oh, he had loved her. Then, now, and in between. Every time he'd have a brush with death that was a tad too close for comfort. Every time he would converse with a soldier, and hear him talk about his girl back home. Every time he'd hear a woman's laughter: he'd shake his head and smile, thinking there was no comparison with the joyous, crackle of Suchin's innocent laughter.

He'd loved her desperately; with all his false arrogance, with all the nothingness of his soul. She'd seen through his pretensions, his darkness and his carefully constructed defenses - as if he was a mere mirror – and she'd dared to love him, even when he knew he could offer her nothing in return but empty promises.

_Me - She died for me… She died in my stead… Suchin, oh Suchin…'_

The swordsman had fixated on his grief through the majority of the time. It occupied his mind in a viciously tight grip, allowing him to transcend the physical limits of his being. He was running more or less blindly. Kenshi had stopped using his telekinesis and telepathy long, long ago – trading their energy to enhance his physical strength. The Sento had merely painted a thin blue line as his path in his spiritual vision – the backdrop was the pitch dark of his blindness.

_'I failed you. I failed us. I failed our son… Why did you not tell me before? Our son! Suchin! If only I could bring you back… If only you'd told me before…'_

He screamed to the heavens and beyond in his mind – demanding the deities for answers to blasphemous questions that belied his lack of belief in them. Why did it have to be her? Why did it have to be him?

Kenshi cried silently during his run, and he didn't care what his son made of it, or if he found out at all. He had never had the opportunity to grieve, or mourn after his love – and the current timing was somehow perfectly apt in its own inappropriate way.

_'These hands can save no one! There is no deliverance, Takahashi…'_

The weary swordsman found himself recalling the captain's words in his mind – and he felt in himself an unfamiliar fury, different from the paternal one he had often found himself experiencing whenever Takeda's well-being was jeopardised in any manner.

No… This was more… carnal; basal, animalistic – uncontrollable. It was not a learned figment from society, a senseless feeling he'd been taught to experience – but a raw fire that emanated from his mind, his soul, his body, and his entire being. It burned through his remorse, his failures, and grief - and further yet, threatened to burn everything in existence with it.

_'Revenge, but not without self-control. I may not be Scorpion, but I am not without my fire, either…'_

Takahashi Kenshi deliberately reminded himself of his distinctness from the former specter – compelling himself to think that he had the consciousness to not slip into the thought-process that made Hanzo, Scorpion.

_'But I will find them. I will find them all. And I will kill them. I will tear apart limb from limb from my own hands – Daegon will pay. He will fall. I will avenge you, Suchin…'_

The crimson darkness followed him, threatening to engulf and suffocate him and Takeda, as it did Suchin. He did not remember when he'd paused for breather, except that it had been the dead of night then – and he felt the sun's rays kiss his face now. Every ounce of muscle on his body was on fire, his legs screaming for respite yet in his mind…

_'Takeda… Hang on, my son - just a few more-!'_

"Arrows! Behind us!"

The swordsman's eyes widened underneath his blindfold, as deliberately shook his mind out from its trance-like state. Barely registering his son's warning in his mind, he summoned the Sento telekinetically, and with a grunt, propelled it towards the projectiles – destroying them, except for one.

With a cry of pain, the swordsman crashed onto the ground, sliding roughly forward a few meters purely out of the sheer momentum from his sprint. Takeda sharply inhaled, as he braced for the impact of his father's fall, and slid off the swordsman's back in the process.

Kenshi breathed in deeply, feeling the muscles in his legs burn immensely, sore and aching from his effort of the night before – in addition to the searing pain from the arrow as it shattered his calf-bone. He held a hand to the ground, and as the dust settled about him, he felt the presence of the Red Dragon – scores of them, fill in on his spiritual vision – led by the same, vile man who had put him in this situation.

Hsu Hao barked his typical, obnoxious laugh.

"Even your telekinesis gets tired when you've been running all night, Kenshi."

"Takeda-hrnn!" growled Kenshi painfully. "RUN!"

* * *

WOWWIE! This was so, so, SO long X_X

I tried, guys.. I truly did try to make it as concise as I could.. I made the discussions as short while retaining their punch as I could, but there was just a lot of ground to cover. The entire Pakistan-arc of the journey was of importance, not purely because of the OC that I wanted to introduce, but because I wanted to register some important developments for Kenshi – including, his mourning for Suchin, his realisation that how HE was the pain problem in all this and how he (slightly) redeemed himself in Takeda's eyes by trying to stay back and help Noor (who, btw, should have been Syrian. The only reason I made her a Pakistani in this, was because I thought having Kenshi trek through Syria and the Middle East before reaching the Shirai Ryu was just a wee bit too far-fetched x_x) *sobs while putting her Syrian civil war notes away*

Why Mount Godwin-Austen? (Also called K2) Primarily, because my grandfather and father once went trekking there, around late '90s ^^ … So I've used some locations and experiences of theirs of the area, and whatever I could use from the pictures to flesh out this part (and the names, consequently – Akram, Faraz were all based on real life people they met back there! xD) This part was actually pretty fun to write, especially given the recent Humans of New York's Pakistan series which is focused around the area where this fic is taking place atm (you can check it out on facebook if you want :) ).

Also, doubt the OC will appear in this fic again. But I've spent a LOT of time fleshing her out in my drafts – I've been itching to write a cold, hardy, world-weary character for a long time now - so would love to read what you all think of her, and whether a non-romance, OC story with the focus on the Kombat kids would interest you all or not :)

**Some extra references (since I, unfortunately, own nothing :'( ):**

**'****Jehan Ara' – **An Urdu/Persian name that means 'adornment of the world'.

**'Kiss from a rose'** \- yes, I wrote the title of that** Seal **song from** Batman Forever.** I swear it's Kenshi and Suchin's theme :'D

**'...all that matters is how well you walk through the fire'** \- a quote from **Charles Bukowski** (a personal favourite, which I find highly motivating at times)

**'Duty for duty's sake'** \- a concept by **Immanuel Kant**, introduced in his famed work, **'the Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals' **\- a central work that explores the realm of moral philosophy. Kant highlights this concept in great detail, although the term used in this context is largely self-explanatory here - the commission of an action, not for the rewards or benefits it would bring to one later, but because the act of carrying out the action _is_ a good in itself and that is all the justification that is required. (Don't look at me like that, lawl, I studied this last term :p)

**'to think, to affirm, to negate - to rationalise'** \- a mixture of **Hegel** (selected readings) and **Kant** (An Essay on Enlightenment)**. **No extra detail on this, Noor is just mentioning the different stages of thought and reasoning here, at their basics.

Sufi track in question - again, this was what was written in my father's diary was 'all the rage' back there in the day (think Michael Jackson-esque popularity, as per his words). It's apparently called **_'Sayonee'_** by a local band, **Junoon**. I once googled the translation, and was quite impressed so I used it here ^^.

Well… You all made it! :'D Kudos and **a big THANK YOU** for reading all that, you guys are awesome! What you liked, what you hated, what you think could be done better and especiallyyyy what you think about the OC – please feel free to let me know, it would truly do me a world of good! Thanks again folks, and as always, enjoy! :)


	9. Of Trials and Tribulations V

Hellooo everyone! Welcome back! :'D

Tons of things going on in my life - finals, exams, and a sudden internship opportunity! (O_O) Anyhow, I hope to have a few weeks off from the studying at least, and a loong 13-14 hour train journey ahead.. so hopefully I'll start typing out more TFS :'D

Before I begin, I'd like to thank **RoseScytheElysium, Fantasysword92375, BrutusSilentium, Hell-On-Training-Wheels, Poe's Daughter, PunkRoseBlitz **and** iceangelmkx** for writing out their lovely reviews to me! Thanks so much guys, I honestly cannot go on without you all! :')

Additional thanks to **Rosalietje, Freakygumdrop **and** Poe's Granddaughter** (xD) for favouriting and following this story! Cheers!

Now another house-keeping aspect: this chapter marks the end of the second arc of the story! (You made it so far, I'm sooo happy! xD) Which is great because now I can finally start to write about my original idea on how Kenshi broke the Sento - which I think should not take more than three chapters, tops (obviously, I've to write it all out first, before I can make a true guess ;D). After that, I'm planning to getting back to the comics storyline for a wee bit to develop Takeda and Hanzo more.. I'll see where this takes me from there later ;)

And lastly - I would like to thank **iceangelmkx** for lending me her Kenshi-expertise in ensuring if the dialogue was in-character for Kenshi *hugs*

Also, **the-06** (from Tumblr), my buddy - the entire Hsu Hao bit is just for you - I could not not write it out after that headcanoning with **eulerami**! :'D I hope you enjoy it! :'D

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for the emotional suffering I like to dish out to my fave characters. Sowwy :P**

**Additional Note:** Just a reminder - thoughts/flashbacks are all in italics! :)

* * *

**The Takahashi Family Saga**

**Of Trials and Tribulations**

**V**

* * *

_Unknown Location_

_Near Mount Godwin-Austen,_

_Sino-Pakistan border, Western Himalayas._

_March, 1999_

_'...If you see me fall, then run.'_

Panting and stumbling, the boy ran through the wilderness, with no direction to follow. His father had carried him for most of his trek, even before Takeda had voiced out how tired he was. It now dawned on the boy how inhumanely herculean Kenshi's act had been - merely a few minutes had passed since the boy took off, sprinting at top speed, but his legs already screamed from the pain to stop.

The woods were deathly silent, one that were a precursor of a bad omen. The sound of Takeda's own heavy breathing filled his ears – yet, before he knew it, another foreign, vile sound arose, almost surrounding his form.

The gut-wrenching smacking of fists meeting flesh, followed by his father's pained cries; as he was being pummeled mercilessly by the Red Dragon commander.

Takeda paused in his tracks as soon as he heard them, and gasped as he realised what was happening to Kenshi.

'_Don't look back, and don't even think about coming for me. Just run; as far as you can, and then some more…'_

Takeda had already defied him. His father was a sore point for him, but even then the boy was aware that despite his failures, his absence and the child's own confused feelings for him, the swordsman had never deserted him, and had always stood up-front, no holds barred to protect him. Even in the heat of battle, even at the cost of other lives…

'_That's an order, Takeda!'_

'_Heed him, son – for my sake! He will always protect you…'_

"Mother…" Takeda whispered. His parents' words echoed in Takeda's ears, and with adrenaline pumping in his veins, the boy somehow found the will to block out the cries, and continue running.

Takeda turned his head whilst still moving, looking toward the clearing he'd left behind, one last time, until he banged right into a solid figure. The impact sent the boy stumbling back, until he landed on his behind, his forehead and back aching with the pain of forgotten bruises.

"Kenshi's little bastard…"

Takeda sharply looked up at the man before him. He was dressed as the other Red Dragon were, when Takeda finally got a glimpse of them when his father fell. Masked, armed, and wearing grey-green fatigues – the only defining feature of this man from the other goons, was a long, painful cut running from between the eyebrows, down the length of the nose and slanted sideways to the jaw – angry red muscle and scar tissue barely held together by the many stitches it took to seemingly fix the cut.

Undoubtedly, the wound was fresh. Not more than a week or so old. Takeda felt his stomach turn over – from the horrid sight, or the nervousness of being captured, the boy simply didn't know.

Takeda didn't even realise when the Red Dragon mercenary pulled him up, but he became uncomfortably aware of the knife at his throat, his jugular pumping ferociously underneath the cold steel-blade.

"L-let me go!" it was a whimper. Takeda fought back tears, furious at himself for sounding so weak.

The mercenary leaned over, reeking of a foreign incest mixed with sweat – an unpleasant odour which made the boy dizzy. "See this scar?" He trailed the blade down the length of his own wound, sneering. "Your _dad_ gave me this scar, boy. And…" the knife was back on Takeda, except it trailed a similar path down his face, poking uncomfortably but not tearing the skin.

"…I ain't too happy 'bout it…"

A particularly pained yell echoed in the woods, followed by a loud, wet, racking cough. Takeda felt a cold chill run down his spine, his mind diverting from his current ordeal, to fearing for Kenshi's life.

The Red Dragon mercenary heard it as well. He sniggered with amusement, showing off a set of perfect yellow teeth, causing Takeda to cringe with disgust.

He had to do this. Across half the world, his father – his _blind_ father, one who had never even seen him in real life, had stood rigid, and protected him from dangers to both their lives. He knew Kenshi was a warrior, a man of a few words – and in their not-so-ideal circumstances, he did exactly what his mother said he would.

Takeda was no fighter, and he never lied - but this was necessary. Maybe they will leave Kenshi alone if he denounced him.

It was the only way the eight year old could protect his father.

"I-I don't have a dad," Takeda returned, finding some defiance, some steel in his voice.

The man looked through his lie with an incredulous snort of laughter. The blade was back at Takeda's neck, and the boy's cerulean eyes widened with fear.

"Gutsy, are we? Seems like treachery does not run alone in the Takahashi blood," the Red Dragon mercenary stared at him with an evil grin. "Hmm… Slave owners in Outworld pay premium for young boys with backbone…" mused the cultist.

Takeda did not know what he was talking about, but the man didn't live long enough to finish his thoughts.

All he heard was a sickening splat that sent blood and sinew flying everywhere, landing on the boy's clothes and face. He looked at the sight before him with frightened eyes: the end of a spear jutted painfully out from the mercenary's throat, who now made disgusting sounds from his throat as he drowned in his own blood – his knees crashing to the ground as his fingers twitched nervously.

He slowly bled to death, choking and wheezing pathetically in front of Takeda, who felt like he was watching a train wreck – and couldn't tear his eyes away from him.

"You are trespassing, child," boomed a deep voice, sending shivers down the boy's spine. He looked up to see a wall of muscle, a tall, _evidently_ strong man, holding the end of a chain like spear that had killed the mercenary. His face was hooded, but his robes were coloured with hints of yellow, and black – something like ninjas on those martial arts films wore.

Takeda simply stared up, speechless, at the fighter before him – thinking whether he could trust him or not.

"Who are you accompanying? And why did you bring the Red Dragon here?" growled the man. His forehead creased with annoyance, and his tone took a dangerous edge. Takeda stood up to his full height, and stared deeply into the man's eyes, feeling courageous all of a sudden.

He shook his head slowly, but strongly – letting the older man know that he won't talk just like that.

"_You will regret following me, Hsu Hao!"_

Kenshi's agonised voice rang out loudly enough, followed by a series of muffled groans and grunts, as Hao laughed maniacally; breaking the silence in the woods. The masked ninja's eyebrows shot up in slight surprise, as if he recognised the owner of the voice, or perhaps the laugh. He slowly shifted his gaze from the boy to the path that led to the clearing instead.

"Fox!"

Immediately, a young, dark-skinned man – dressed in similar garb, ran up from behind, and bowed deeply to the ninja.

"Yes, Grandmaster?"

"Take him to the temple – treat his wounds, give him something to eat. This will not take long."

"I'm not going anywhere!" cried Takeda, resisting the older boy's advances, as the grandmaster moved toward the path.

The ninja looked gravely at the clearing, from where he'd heard Kenshi's voice, letting his bloody kunai dangle from his hand, as if a reply to silence young Takeda.

As he jogged up the path to rescue the older Takahashi, it was only then that Takeda realised that the 'Grandmaster' was not alone. He had in fact, come with a small army of his soldiers – most of them armed, all bearing similar clan colours, who now followed him to the clearing.

He was as good as captured.

'_Real smooth, Takeda - couldn't survive ten minutes on your own.'_

The youth named Fox took a step toward Takeda, and gripped his shoulder gently, but with a firmness relaying his compliance to the Grandmaster's order. Takeda struggled at first, hoping to break free of the captor - but then, he glanced into the kind, hazel stare from the veiled face.

Takeda reluctantly acquiesced.

* * *

'_Hao, did you secure the contact in Beijing __**this time**__?' the swordsman's voice was cold, apathetic and tired – as if Hao's mere existence bored him to death._

'_I did,' the Mongolian ground out, a muscle twitching in his temple in anger. 'The deliveries will not be delayed, Kenshi-__**san**__."_

'_Good.' Kenshi waved him off, lip curled in arrogant disdain, and began to walk away, without as much as a glance back, his tone alone condescending to the point of humiliation. 'Daegon knows I have much better things to do than tie up loose ends after termites like you.'_

"How does it feel, Kenshi-_san_?" Hsu Hao mocked, his voice a guttural growl, as he held up Kenshi by the collar. The voices, the insulting words of the swordsman from weeks ago echoed incessantly in his mind, as he beat up the swordsman with unprecedented glee. Blood flowed in streams from his nose, the swordsman's barely suppressed groans providing a grotesque, sadistic pleasure to the Red Dragon.

"To become _my_ little loose end now," Without waiting for a response, he continued to punch Kenshi's battered face. "You and your little fuck-up-"

"Your-war-is-with-me-Hao," Kenshi grunted with effort. Crimson began to flow from his mouth, bracketing into the sides of his face before pouring down his chin. "Leave-him-_alone_."

Hao guffawed, incredulous at the beaten man's words. Was this the same cocky, callous swordsman who had conducted the affairs of the Red Dragon without the slightest of remorse, or care? This man, now, grovelling helplessly for his boy – this spineless fool masquerading as the pride of Daegon?

"Weakling! To think Daegon thought you worthy of our cause!" Hao shook him hard from his collar.

"That-wretched-son-uva-bitch!" Kenshi snarled breathlessly, his lips curled in a sneer even in his injured position. "Couldn't face me, so went after my Such-"

"You mean your whore, eh Ken-"

Kenshi head-butted him with all his remaining might, nearly knocking himself out from the blow. He'd heard a satisfying 'crunch' – and even before Hsu Hao reeled back howling, he knew he'd broken the Mongolian's nose.

"You worth-less, runt…" the swordsman hissed from between his clenched jaw. "You're nothing to me… Tell-your-_master_-to-come-stop-me himself… I don't deal-with scum like-"

Hao got up on his feet with an angry roar, blood dripping from his nose down his chin, and kicked Kenshi swiftly, harshly in the ribs – eliciting a cry of pain from the swordsman.

The Sento lay barely a few feet away, brazenly exposed on the grass. Kenshi had tried to launch the katana at his cybernetic heart, but Daegon's warding protecting the Mongolian, had overpowered his already depleted telekinesis. Kenshi now, tried to inch his way towards the sword – his fingers quivering. Hao backed off for a second – leaning back, folding his arms, as watched the scene unfold in from of him with perverse delight as the searing pain in his nose eased.

Kenshi took the reprieve with all he had. From the meager strength he had left in his limbs, he commanded himself to move toward the Sento at all costs. Propping himself on his forearm, he heaved his body up from the ground, feeling the effort tax his mindfulness, bile rising up to his throat. Covered in sweat, dirt and blood – he managed to put one hand in front of the other, dragging his injured leg behind him as he pathetically commando-crawled toward the ancestral sword.

The entirety of the Red Dragon mercenaries surrounding them laughed heartlessly at the piteous sight. Yet it was a fall from grace the swordsman was too distracted to register. With his head spinning, his consciousness on the brink of slipping away, all he could think about was whether his son had made it or not.

Just as he was within its reach, Hao bent down and grabbed the swordsman by the hair, flipping him like one would a sack, so that the injured man was on his back once more.

"Says the man who's having the shit beat out of him!" Hao sneered, as the mirth began to subside from the Red Dragon mercenaries. Becoming serious once again, their commander stood over with Kenshi under him, and brought a booted foot down his outstretched hand as it reached for the sword.

The fallen swordsman gasped in pain – once which was cut off with the same foot now crushing his throat, cutting off his breathing.

"I expected a better fight, Kenshi. Figured you might even _kill_ a few of us," Hao haughtily proclaimed. "Instead you hid in the wilderness, like a coward-"

"Not-hiding…" Kenshi managed, his voice strained to the point of incoherency.

He _felt_ their presence before he heard the vibration on the ground alert him of their arrival. If his oxygen supply was not being cut off, he would have heaved a sigh of relief.

"T-Trespassing…"

Barely a second passed, before the Red Dragon found himself in excruciating pain, his face a mask of horror and agony, his limbs turning limp. He did not register the kunai lodged deeply in his cybernetic heart, for he had seen the glimmer of the flames, the shadow of the spectre as he crossed his peripheral vision.

The last thing the Mongolian felt, before the masked Shirai Ryu rushed to take his life, was a permanent, frozen fear.

"GET OUT OF HERE!"

Hao was the first one to fall in the ambush.

Hasashi Hanzo had seen the mercenary's treatment of his friend; and had launched a single fist, powered by the flames of the Netherrealm. Hsu Hao's face: skin, muscles, bone and brains – all began to melt upon impact, allowing the former wraith's hand to push through his skull as if it was mere mush.

Kenshi barely registered what transpired for the next few minutes – except that he knew the Shirai Ryu had finally arrived. His lungs burned as his chest heaved, desperately inhaling the cool mountain air to ease the fire within, but it did little to keep his head from spinning and the ache of the beating, the exhaustion to set in.

He beckoned enough energy to sit up, and he stayed in the position – blocking out every sound, every emotion, every sensory from around and within him; focusing on simply breathing; becoming an island of calm in the midst of a storm, clearing his mind.

The pain in his midsection indicated at least a cracked rib, in addition to his broken shin bone from the arrow. The damage to his face and chest would cause superficial, but painful bruising, though he did feel as if he had perhaps torn a bit of muscle in the hamstring from all the running.

And then, there was the exhaustion: Kenshi felt like his shoulders could not bear his weight anymore; as if he merely supporting his own frame was like holding the entire weight of the world, like Atlas.

He did not know how many minutes passed, but he did feel the reflections of life energy fill his vision, with some diminishing – as the Shirai Ryu fighters cornered and killed the Red Dragon assassins.

"Takahashi Kenshi…" a deep voice spoke eventually.

The telepath recognised its owner immediately – managing a small smile to himself.

"This, belongs to you…" the ninja grasped Kenshi's arm gently, and placed the Sento in his gloved fingers.

A surge of power shot up from the sword, charging his body and freshening his mind, though it did little to ease the pain. And it was only then, that he felt wisps of his telekinesis and telepathy begin to return.

The swordsman sheathed the weapon at his back, raising his arm to indicate the other man aid him. The ninja immediately grabbed it, hauling the swordsman up, placing his arm over his shoulders while holding him up by the waist with the other.

"Goddamnit, Hanzo," Kenshi rasped, before a small coughing fit hit him. "What in the _hell_ took you so long?"

Hanzo was narrowed his eyes at the complaint, and the connotations of Netherrealm the swordsman so carelessly joked about. Evidently, Kenshi had trouble conveying gratitude.

"You should stop spending so much time with the actor," Hanzo replied, thoroughly annoyed. "And a prior word would have saved us trouble."

"I was a tad pressed for time – being chased all over the continent… the usual," Kenshi returned sarcastically. He felt some semblance of strength return back, and was truly grateful for Hanzo's help. "There-there should be a young boy around…"

"I've sent him up to the temple with one of my students," Hanzo answered, quirking an eyebrow at the swordsman's unusual comment. "Yet you, my friend, have _a lot_ of explaining to do."

Kenshi barely suppressed a wry, lop-sided grin. "Now where have I heard that before…"

* * *

_Special Forces Base_

_Classified Location_

"Major, urgent call from the Colonel – Line 4."

Sonya looked up from her file, narrowing her eyes at the sergeant with suspicion. "That's impossible, Sgt. Hunter. He's on a leave."

"No Ma'am – this is Colonel Akram, from Islamabad."

Sonya's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she picked up the receiver from the intercom at her desk. This, was definitely no social call, and the Major breathed in deeply, bracing herself for whatever that was to come next.

"Major Sonya Blade speaking. Apologies for keeping you waiting, Colonel - I trust all is well?" her tone was a tad too eager and Sonya mentally cursed herself.

"Major Blade – be at ease," a deep voice resounded from the device. "There is no emergency, but there are some questions, regarding your… recent operations, which have affected us."

A small wave of heat rushed rose to the Major's neck. "In that case, sir, standard protocol suggests you speak with my superior first," she answered cautiously.

"I have many demands of my time, madam. I do not believe this can wait," the colonel was not too pleased, although his tone remained civil.

'_They'd have my ass if I messed this up.' _

"As you wish, Colonel. Please continue," she responded, immediately signalling the sergeant to begin recording the call.

"Four of my men were killed in Skardu yesterday, following an attack from the Red Dragon. What would you know about that?"

Sonya shifted slightly uncomfortably in her seat. "I am sorry to hear that – we have been working against the organisation for a while now, Colonel," she paused briefly, then decided to take a risk and continue with her own thoughts on the matter. "It is _concerning_ however, to hear that they have begun to expand their sphere of influence to _your_ territory."

The Colonel, expecting this, chuckled humourlessly from his end. "Do not concern yourself too much, Major. We have but one _talented_ captain, who was more than capable of handling them herself, alone." The tone was slightly mocking, and Sonya immediately recognised whom they were talking about.

She jotted down a note on her file, but said nothing.

"Nevertheless, allow me to remind you, that it would be much wiser to arrange a joint-operation beforehand with us if you want to transport your assets across our country, rather than undertaking such course of action."

Sonya hiked an eyebrow at the response, frowning. "I'm not sure what you mean, exactly, Col. Akram."

"Takahashi Kenshi is here, with his son. An SF special consultant, yes?"

'_Kenshi?! Dang it, you blind moron!'_

"He is indeed," Sonya answered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Though he has been out of our commission for a while, now."

"Well, I'm not interested in his current employment status for the SF. But should he ever decide to take another family vacation across the length of our country all the way to the Shirai Ryu compound, then we'd appreciate an official word from his agency about this. You do understand, do you not, Major?"

Sonya frowned at the words.

Kenshi travelling across the South Asia, with his son in tow, to reach… _The Shirai Ryu?_ Evading attacks by the Red Dragon, pulling favours by using his SF contacts… Was he – giving up himself to Hasashi?

Sonya dropped the pen she was holding, her eyes widening as realisation began to dawn.

'_His son! He's giving him up to that wraith! But… why- God! … Oh __**hell**__, no…'_

"Allow me to assure you, Colonel, that Kenshi's work against the Red Dragon has not only been valuable to the SF, but to everyone afflicted by the cult," she began, awkwardly realising how diplomacy was truly _not_ her forte – and that such verbal parlaying and mind games did nothing but exhaust her.

"They have ruthlessly hunted him throughout the continent – hindering our presence in Japan, and Thailand. He'd been laying low recently, especially since after the child's mother was murdered in cold blood, in retaliation to his activities." Sonya sighed bitterly. "While not authorised by the SF - he's doing all this… just to save his son's life, Colonel. Nothing more."

"How can you be so sure, Major?" the Colonel pressed, nonchalant. "How am I to believe all this?"

Sonya gritted her jaw, in an attempt to ease the sudden wave of fury at the condescending question.

"Because, with all due respect, _sir_," she began, trying her utmost to keep her voice steady. "I would have done a lot more than just trek across your country if _my_ daughter's life was ever in danger. I assure you of that."

Her hand automatically went up to the framed picture of Johnny and Cassie on her desk – from a beach trip that was apparently, way too long ago. As she said the words, she stroked a thumb affectionately over her Cassie's wide smile.

Unbeknownst to the major, Col. Akram nodded with satisfaction at the response, from his office thousands of miles away. The cross-checking of facts added up with the story his captain had reported, and while the Pakistani colonel felt remorse at the death of four young soldiers from his company, he sympathised with Takahashi Kenshi. He too, was a father – and he understood what motivated such reckless behaviour – as Sonya Blade so _eloquently_ stated just now.

"Major Blade, my father once told me something," the colonel began after a long pause, sighing deeply. "Wealth, and progeny, are _'fitnah'_: Sources of perpetual trials and tribulations – compelling us to do inexplicable things… things you and I could never imagine, and against which we are totally powerless…"

The blind swordsman was a guest to them, and he had done no wrong. It was not him, but the Red Dragon had extended their vile activities to his land. _They_ would most graciously return the favour by wiping them out.

"Though he did not request a pick-up, I've sent Captain Noor to aid him, regardless. There should be no issue from our end."

Sonya's hand trembled slightly, the words from the Colonel and Kenshi's decision hitting her much harder than she'd have imagined, or ever acknowledged.

"We appreciate all your help, sir," she replied back, her voice strained. "I, on behalf of the SF and Kenshi, thank you."

The colonel spoke again, this time, more with the kindness of a learned mentor, rather than a foreign counterpart: "God-willing, we will do everything we can to help the swordsman and his son. You have my word."

* * *

_The Shirai Ryu Temple_

_Later at night_

"You think we're safe with him here?"

Takeda looked about as he got into the bed – for the first time in days. Their current room was scant – the blankets were threadbare, and there was no electricity. Irrespective, the room was well-lit from candles, and the moon and stars shone exceptionally bright, lending their light – and the covers would do their job.

Kenshi scowled, as he read the questions, and bitterness in his son's mind. It all had come to this moment, and he realised he would have to be exceptionally careful with his son, now.

"The Grandmaster is a warrior of unmatched ability. This is as safe as we can be."

"That is exactly why I asked you this!" Takeda shot, his eyes narrowed. His heart tore when he saw the black and purple bruises on his father's face – but he was mad, and furious at him at the same time.

He had not thought his father would deceive him like this.

"Didn't you see what he did to those men? He's a wraith, from HELL! My mother told me about such beings and-"

"A soulless hell-spawn would never give refuge to us," Kenshi answered, his lips pursed in annoyance. He knew there was no way of explaining such concepts to as young a child, but he said it anyway. "Everyone struggles with demons, Takeda. Hanzo conquered Scorpion years ago."

"Well, I don't care. I don't trust him…." The boy exclaimed, furious, before he turned a hurtful gaze toward Kenshi. "And I don't trust _you_."

Kenshi sat on the bed beside him, his head bowed, and sighed deeply. "Takeda, listen to me. I-"

"You said mother would be here... You LIED to me!" Takeda bit his lip, as futile tears flooded his eyes. He pushed his knees up to his chest, and tore his gaze away from his father.

"My mom…" Takeda began, his voice breaking and faltering. He didn't want to say the words, but it meant nothing to him now. He'd been kept in the dark for so long, when the answer was right there in front of him all this time.

He should have known. From the moment his mother mentioned his father to him by name, for the first time in his life. From the moment the blinded warrior appeared at Kun-Yaai's doorstep, soaked to the bone, quiet as was his way. From the way he had taken up his guardianship, and promised they would now be together – the picture of a happy family Takeda had dared to dream, dared to imagine for the first time.

Takahashi Kenshi was a liar. Something must have happened to Mama. He had no business coming back for him, if it hadn't. Takeda meant nothing to him, he never had.

"… she's never coming back, is she?"

The swordsman closed his eyes beneath the blindfold, feeling the hair raise at the back of his head, his neck become strained, wrought from nerves and tension.

'_It all boils down to this. He must know now. He won't stay a minute if you don't tell him…'_

For a second, he was back in Dara's living room, his mind swirling with thoughts and emotions – words and logic escaping him before he could say them.

'_Do it, Kenshi. You've run away from this long enough.'_

"No."

The heavy silence was only filled with his son's uneven breathing, and his own heartbeat, as it thundered and pounded in his head, his throat constricting.

And then, he heard his son sob – the pitiful sound replacing the words Takeda was too distressed, too stunned to voice himself.

"Something… something happened at the factory…" but he knew the boy was not listening. Takeda had buried his face in the crook of his forearms, as they lay crossed over his knees - trembling to the extent that the lightweight headboard too started shaking. Tears rolled across his face of their own accord, as he felt a balloon being inflated in the center of his chest, leaving him breathless, and broken.

For the sake of his own sanity, Kenshi exited from his mind – as Takeda's sorrowful sobs morphed into soul-crushing, bitter weeping.

It utterly shattered the swordsman. Never had he felt as helpless, as useless in the great scheme of things as he did now.

"C-come here, son-"

"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!" Takeda screamed at his father, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes and a blinding, senseless rage.

Kenshi's face twisted with pain, his mouth slightly agape, as he felt too embarrassed to even meet his son's gaze.

He knew this would happen. He knew it every time he thought of Suchin, her bleeding body – and concluded Takeda would not take it easily – what child could?

Yet every syllable still stabbed through his miserable heart with a ferocity that left him almost at the verge of tears himself.

With his arms slightly held open, Kenshi paused in his advances for a second, and thought of retreating. But such a thought, as misguided and awry as it was, itself inflamed him. Ignoring his son's words, he softly took him from his shoulders, and quickly enclosed him within a tight embrace.

"Takeda… don't… I am so sorry…"

Takeda struggled and cried, his voice muffled, as Kenshi only continued to hold him closer. He punched his father on the chest again and again, crying out for his mother in Thai – in words that held no meaning for him, not anymore.

'_Yes, go ahead. Let it out. Beat me, hurt me… It is my fault. I could not save her. But do not cry – you will kill me right now, son. Before I get to those bastards who did this to us…'_

A moment later, Kenshi softly grabbed his feeble fists in one hand, and pressed a long kiss to the boy's forehead. Takeda let out a wail of anguish that ran too deep for words – tears rolling down the sides of his face. Kenshi quickly wiped them away, as the boy threw his arms around his father's neck and cried hysterically into his shoulder.

"My boy, my son… No… They say it hurts the dead…. Don't cry…" he whispered into Takeda's ear, his own voice quivering, as he rocked the grieving child.

"Bring her back! I promise, I'll never be bad again – she's the only one who loves me!" the boy grabbed Kenshi's collar and jerked it roughly. "Please… she's all I have…" he ended defeatedly.

His heart twisted in pain at his son's words. And it was true – Takeda was mocked and pushed around by the world in Lampang, and his time with his father had exposed him to the worst of humankind possible; boy had not known love from anyone else but his mother.

"She was all I had, too.. Then I met you, son…"

Love. Kenshi had never uttered such grandiose terms – not even for Suchin, at least not in so many words. What he felt for her was more of a fire, a blaze that burned through all logic, all logos that could be used to describe his sentiments; that went deeper than meek shows of affection.

It was the same for his son – but perhaps, multi-focal. Bound by ties of blood, legacy, duty…

Yet his son needed to hear them. Far more than he needed to say them; what he felt for Takeda was sealed with permanency in his heart. But the boy was extremely vulnerably - even if he didn't register them at the moment, he needed to know, he needed the comfort of knowing that despite how pathetically weak the words were...

"You are still loved, my son… I am not dead, yet…"

The swordsman, with trembling hands, stroked his head, and back – giving as tight a hug as he could muster – despite the sharp pain in his ribs from his earlier beating. Takeda's head was nuzzled in between his collar bone and neck, even now as he cried and muttered intelligibly – in a fetal position in his father's lap. Kenshi cooed and comforted him, while excruciatingly aware of the torment he had held inside his own chest for so long.

* * *

He did not know if it was minutes, hours, or even days – but eventually, the child's exhaustion overwhelmed his grief. At some point, from when the candles drowned themselves out in their own waxy tears, to the earliest break of dawn, the boy fell asleep in the same position – curled up against him.

Kenshi leaned his back on the headboard, tilting his head back until it touched the wall. Down the length of his own bruised face, a solitary tear rolled from underneath his blindfold.

"You will never know, my son…" he whispered tonelessly into the boy's hair – his voice too soft to be heard by the sleeping child. "How I wish I could undo - all this…" Kenshi bit the inside of his cheek, frustrated at himself.

"Your tears, your cries will haunt me…" he continued, unperturbed. "Along with your mother... She was a very brave woman, son… Just like you are… I am so proud of you- Both of you…. I always will be…"

Not a wink of sleep graced the swordsman's body – he knew that the coming morning would be much darker than this single, darkest night of his life.

"It'll hurt," he drew in a shaky breath. "It will hurt a lot at first… but- you'll make friends. You are young, you'll forget me, and move on… You'll like it here, I know it, son…"

Time stopped, and ceased to exist for him in its entirety – just as it did when he'd first met the child. Yet he felt the early dawn's rays kiss his face – much, much earlier than he would have liked it to.

"But what you will never know is how much it hurt_ me_, to do this…"

This little boy he held, had in merely a week, become his whole universe. He was a reflection of his mother: the same kind heart, the same innocent curiosity… even the same streak of defiance. Yet he was brave, as much as a child could be. He would become strong…

And Kenshi would not be a witness of any of it.

It was then that the gravity of the decision he had taken, finally hit him; in the early hours of the fateful day he'd willingly remove himself from his son's life.

"For you. For your safety. For your life; I have no choice, my son…" Kenshi said slightly loudly this time, to remind himself, to beat some sense back into his head – knowing that allowing his heart to rule his mind for once would now have consequences far beyond that of his own measly life.

Kenshi bit the insides of his cheek until he tasted blood; wishing his physical pain would drown out the one ripping him apart on the inside.

"For _you_. _Your_ safety. _Your_ life, Takeda!" He repeated the same words aloud a second time to himself, a tad more forcefully - compelling himself to believe in the voice that came back to his ears; all in a bid to convince his flighty heart of the desperation of his circumstances.

With a painstaking effort, he gently peeled the boy off from his chest, and laid his sleeping son, back first on the bed.

This would be the last time he'd hold him, the last time he'd lay him to sleep…

'_For God's sake, Kenshi! Don't you __**dare**__ go down that line-'_

Yet his hand lingered, a moment too long, on Takeda's frail chest – right over his young heart. The boy breathed deeply – his heartbeat steady, strong, rhythmic…

'_He's your father, he will recognise you – he will feel it in here, and that's how he'll know…'_

Suchin's soft voice played like a melancholic melody – the words he'd heard in the boy's mind back when he first met him in Dara's house.

Kenshi practically crashed on his knees on the floor, as he crouched beside Takeda, guilt, and insurmountable grief arresting his heart and soul in an unrelenting grip. How right had his love been – indeed, he'd felt things, unimaginable before, for this little sleeping child. How simply he had chosen to listen to and abide by his mother's words…

And suddenly, even before he had walked a step on it, Kenshi was already weary of the black path that lay ahead of him – feeling the task ahead, the time separated from his son more like a self-imposed _exile_.

Inhaling deeply, shakily, Kenshi took off the gloves of from his hands, and for the last time – he tenderly traced the boy's facial features with his fingertips – his touch feather-light, affectionate – committing every curve, every plane to indelibly engrave itself in the corners of his mind.

'_I take after mama, she's very beautiful, you know…'_

A light, breathless chuckled escaped the swordsman's lips, as he shook his head at the memory from Japan – almost a lifetime ago.

'_He'll grow up to look like me… Except for the mouth… No, he has Suchin's sweet smile…'_

With a soft, sad smile of his own, Kenshi bent over his head, and placed a final, silent kiss to his temple. Takeda lightly stirred, but did not wake from his exhausted sleep.

"Maybe in time… perhaps you'll forgive your Papa-san…" he whispered his appeal, trying to keep his own tears at bay. He stroked his son's silky hair lovingly for a few moments, knowing he had stalled long enough now. Then, he finally compelled himself to get up from the bed, and still facing the child, he took a few steps back – retrieving the Sento from beside his bed and gripping it in his hand, for comfort and solace that simply evaded him.

'_Tearing a limb from your body, would have been easier, Kenshi,'_ an ancestral voice whispered in his mind. _'But that would achieve nothing. There are yet things… to be done…'_

Kenshi nodded darkly in response.

The swordsman ended his mournful monologue in a louder tone – letting the silence of the chamber bear witness to his words, his sentiments; knowing their echoing back in his mind would become the basis of his existence for the coming years.

That if he were to die, at least he would not rue the fact that his thoughts would die with him, unspoken.

"My Takeda," he began, his voice steady and clear – as if he was addressing an assembly of soldiers, like he'd done so for countless SF missions. "Just as he did your mother, your father will love _you_, as well – with all his nothingness, and with all his wretchedness, forevermore and beyond."

He paused briefly, taking the finality of the moment.

"But know this, son; know… that all this… that _you_, have already killed me, this night… And I cannot be more grateful for this death of me…"

His grip on the Sento tightened, and as he took another step back, he found himself in the familiar territory – a swordsman blinded by revenge; this time, not for his dead ancestors, but for the death of his happiness, his love and his fatherhood, that came by the hand of that vile Daegon.

A strange sense of clarity ensued, that belied a rage that threatened to possess his entire being.

'_You will have your due: blood for blood.'_

Having uttered these words, Kenshi silently stalked out of the room – lest his own heart turned against him, and cloud his judgement – or his grit and determination falter in the wake of his parenthood's demise.

* * *

As he softly closed the door, he realised Hanzo had been waiting outside for him, all this time.

"The child?" began Hasashi, his tone deliberately low.

"Sleeping," Kenshi answered, almost robotically. The anguish had been replaced by a hollow numbness. He was a father no more – he left his fatherhood sleeping with the child; dormant - to be woken up only when he had avenged Suchin's murder.

Now he was but a mere warrior. A nameless kenshi. As he has had always been.

"So what's your next move?" Hanzo asked, cautiously.

"Finish what I started," Kenshi growled. "Find Daegon. Find out how he and the Red Dragon knew about Suchin and Takeda. And then… make him _pay_."

"And the boy?" Hanzo quizzically raised an eyebrow at his friend, as they began to walk down the hallway.

"He stays here, Hanzo, by your leave." Kenshi turned toward the Grandmaster, his voice grave.

"You will always be welcome here, swordsman," Hanzo answered, placing a reassuring hand on the other's shoulder. "Yet have you told him of your intent?"

Kenshi shook his head. "If he knew Suchin was murdered, he'd run away looking for revenge, and find death…" he answered, dispirited. "He thinks his mother's death was a work-place accident for now-"

"I expected better from you," Hanzo scolded, frowning at his counterpart's words. "Lying to him won't make him trust you, Kenshi," Hanzo frowned at his counterpart's words.

"I'm not the most trustworthy man these days, Hanzo; and there's nothing I've done to convince him otherwise," Kenshi returned, raising his chin defiantly, his voice steady. "But it will protect him… You of all people know what happens when you dedicate your life to vengeance…"

"…without discipline," completed Hanzo for the swordsman. The Grandmaster understood what was to be done, and nodded to himself as he roughly planned out the role of his newest pupil for the clan.

A short silence fell in between them, as the two warriors reached the archway of the temple. As Kenshi had sensed, dawn had merely just broken through the darkness. Dew glittered like crystals from the bright green grass, and deep into the woods, a koel cooed her own rueful song – breaking the silence at the temple.

Kenshi took in his surroundings at the gateway to the temple, before he turned around to speak with his friend.

"Takeda, he… he is everything I have, Hanzo," the swordsman declared, morose. "I will never forget this favour."

"Kenshi, you are aware that I can never be a father to him, only a taskmaster, an instructor," answered the Grandmaster, keeping his tone deliberately neutral. "Yet his protection is something I am more than capable of managing, and ultimately, teaching."

"I ask for nothing more."

Hanzo nodded slowly, as he observed the swordsman. He looked visibly tired, even haggard - and the bruises and injuries made him look far worse. But there was something else - from the the grim set of his mouth, the clenched jaw and the distant words. A fire - whose flames had burned Hanzo long enough.

Kenshi was teetering at the lip of the same abyss. For the Shirai Ryu, it was like staring into the reflection of one's younger self - and seeing where he went wrong all those years ago...

"Kenshi, you do remember what you told me, do you not?" Hanzo began, needing to make sure the swordsman was going to be fine.

Kenshi turned to him with a wistful expression. "I am not Scorpion, Hanzo. Though _what_ I am..." Kenshi was taken aback slightly at the thought.

What was he, indeed? Neither bright like the day, nor of darkness of the night, or pleasant like the early morning breeze... Here he was; standing embroiled in his dilemmas, _turning_ away from the very door of his heaven...

_'You have a job to do, Kenshi...'_

"I guess I'll have to find out once more, now..."

Kenshi began to walk out from the archway, in the direction of the woods.

"Godspeed, Kenshi!" Hanzo called out.

The swordsman merely turned, and held up an arm in farewell, before walking away from the temple.

* * *

So there we have it! The conclusion to this second arc of the story! :'D

Some references I must mention before finally concluding (there weren't that many in this update :p):

**'...an island of calm in the storm...' :** I believe it was Nixon who spoke such words about Pre-Islamic Revolution Iran in the mid-1970s, which was allied with the US at that time. Three years later, well, not so much... */IR nerdiness*

**'Tearing a limb would have been easier...' : **This bit frankly just wrote itself, but I was inspired by the DC comics' one-shot (later adapted into the Justice League animated show) - "For the Man Who Has Everything." Just an elseworld kind of a story where Superman was affected by the hypnotic parasite 'the Black Mercy' that gave delusions of one achieving their heart's greatest desire. To snap out of the illusion was supposedly like ripping an arm or a leg - and I just thought it fit in the context.

_**"Fitnah" :**_ an Arabic word that has a range of meanings, from trials, tribulations to temptations, curses, etc. This leads to...

**"Wealth and progeny are _'fitnah'":_** Now I'll be honest, I knew nothing about this at first. But just to make sure I was on track, I had a Pakistani friend go over the convo in between Col Akram and Sonya (after explaining to her the context of the story).. and this is what she suggested I write. Apparently, it's a popular saying in the country, although the exact context is rooted in Islamic principles - something along the lines that one must stay true, knowing that wealth and the love of your children can make one do heinous things, or so. (I have Wikipedia to thank for this). According to her, it's almost used as a curse for those who really test someone's patience, strength too..

**(Thanks sooo much, bud! :3)**

Don't know about you guys, but the _'fitnah'_ reference really _spoke_ to me, especially as I ended this particular arc. It just made sense to include in how Kenshi's trials were self-induced, and that it was true that the love of one's children can push them to unimaginable limits. I guess I've been exploring this theme all along.. So yeah :'D

**I really hope you all enjoyed this update.. Please do review, and let me know what you thought of the dialogue, the expansion of the comics - what you liked, what could be better - anything, please feel free to let me know how it went! It truly means the world to me! Thanks and enjoy! :)**


	10. Of Bonds of Blood I

Hellooo guys! So I'm back again - a tad earlier than usual for my fortnightly gig xD

So we start a brand new arc this time! I'm really excited about this update - primarily, because this idea hit me when I was working on the first arc, and (thus) secondly, it allowed plenty of time to do ample research on making it all work. This basically covers the somewhat ambiguous notion of the Sento and the Possessed variation in-game. I asked the comic writers on Twitter a few times on whether we'd get an explanation on how Kenshi broke the Sento, and why is he possessed, but to no avail. Hence the idea for this arc was born :'D

I must thank **BrutusSilentium, Hell-On-Training-Wheels, PunkRoseBlitz, Poe's Daughter, RoseScytheElysium, iceangelmkx **and** Freakygumdrop** for reviewing the last chapter. Thanks so much for all your heart lifting comments! Additional thanks to **Firebending Master** for favouriting and following this! :) *gives chocolate brownies and ice cream to all*

I sincerely hope all this works out fine.. I've a feeling this new arc will either be a hit, or a big miss - so please do let me know how it went ultimately. And extra references are at the end of this chapter, below as always :)

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for the emotional and now, physical suffering I like to dish out to my fave characters. Sorry (not sorry) :'D**

**Additional Note:** Before I begin, just a heads up, before anyone gets confused.. There is a lot of internal bickering going on in this chapter, inside Kenshi's head :P So the voices from the Sento are written in _plain italics. _Kenshi is not doing a lot of internal thinking 'I think this, I think that, etc' here, but he does have one or two thoughts of his own - those are also in _plain italics. _The voice from the foreign entity is in_ **bold italics -**_and is totally separate from the voices in the Sento.

* * *

**The Takahashi Family Saga**

**Of Bonds of Blood **

**I**

* * *

_**Five years later**_

_Somewhere in the Primorsky Krai District,_

_Russia._

**_'Wake up, Kazimir. Glory awaits you…'_**

His mind swam, his heart pounded in his throat and he was freezing. Wheezing, the swordsman struggled to breathe, every inhalation resulting in a spurt of blood to gush forth from his punctured lungs, in small, gory fountains, staining the pristine white snow below him a haunting crimson.

Thunder clapped and rolled in the distance – yet snow continued to fall unperturbed, covering the swordsman in a thin, white blanket - as if unaware of the carnage wrecked onto his being hours before.

Twin wounds in his back, broken bones, torn muscles, a shattered collar, and countless black and blue bruises adorned his gravely injured body; as he lay bleeding to death on the cold forest floor.

Blood flowed incessantly from his mouth and nose, and with the remaining bit of strength he had left, he managed to prop himself up on his forearms. Sweat poured from the sides of his face, as he shivered from the cold – running an unusually high fever that had pushed him to the point of delirium.

'_Return us to where we belong, Kenshi.'_

'_**Kenshi is dead. Kenshi remains dead. And you have killed him…'**_

No. The voices were real – they may have been inside his head, but the swordsman was acutely aware of his hearing – his ears were not fooling him.

He grunted with effort, commanding his limbs and body to cooperate with his yet undead mind – though they seemed as heavy as if they were laced with lead. With a tortured groan, he collapsed in a heap, fresh blood erupting from his wounds – numerous aches rising to a furor in every muscle of his tired body.

'_**Or maybe, he never was alive. Maybe he was but a thin veneer covering your true face, Kazimir.' **_

The demon's presence simmered and cooled within his veins, lending him a peculiar kind of strength – one that dulled the voices of the Sento, and even his own thinking, in lieu of making the simple act of breathing easier for him. It was so easy to listen to its cooing tone, so easy to believe that all that he had accomplished in the past two decades amounted to nothing.

Eventually, the pain – its sharp currents, its dull throbs and sore aches – all began to subside. It was as if fresh life was being breathed into him.

Yet every breath he inhaled filled him with smoky shadows – foreign and vile. Dark, spidery markings – black woven with sickly red, carved their way into his injured form – as the swordsman lost the remnants of innocence still left in his soul; one that allowed him the capacity to love.

'_**Yes! Give into me, Kazimir… It is your destiny!' **_

But he was aware. Somewhere, in some part of his instinct – that he was being _violated_. That the demon brought with it no deliverance.

He would make such an ideal servant – the call of the demon so much _truer_ than that of the katana. If only he could silence the annoying ancestral hum in the back of his mind…

'_You forsook your lineage once, Kenshi. We cannot allow you to do so again!'_

The second voice was stern, yet comfortingly familiar to Kenshi. He managed to put himself in a crawling position, even as his head spun viciously, and bile rose to his throat.

His ancestors. Their unified voice had managed to silence the demon, even if for a bit; providing Kenshi enough reprieve from the evil that threatened to consume him, to try a final time, to save his life…

"S-sonya!" Kenshi gasped into the com link he had fished out from knapsack. It was the basic human instinct to fight for survival that dictated his actions presently. Logic and duty had been forgotten long ago. It did not matter who he was or what he was – he just did not want to die a nameless death this evil night.

Static.

"Do-you-r-read-… me-" Kenshi managed to grind out from between clenched teeth. He shivered uncontrollably as the wind picked up, plastering his wet hair onto his feverish forehead.

"G-od-damnit-MAJOR!" he mewled, as a bloody cough racked through his being – ripping through his ribs and lungs as if they were being freshly sliced with a razor blade.

More static. There was no response from this far out into the woods. Kenshi let the device slip from his fingers and fall into the snowy ground below him – despair managing to creep its way through his utter desperation like fog clouding clear glass.

'_This… this is it…' _he was able to find his own voice from the myriad of whispers in his mind. His eyes rolled at the back of his head as he exhaled carefully. He leaned his head back, until it touched the trunk of the tree.

'_**Don't run away, child. Your blood is powerful... I will amplify your strength, Kazimir - and reunite you with your loved ones…'**_

"Suchi-n…." he whispered, his body rocking with the direction of the wind. He wished he had not given into the demon's strength – the thought, the image and the shame of losing his beloved pierced and bore into his soul with the intensity of being branded alive with a white-hot rod.

'_Suchin is no more – but our heir is still alive, Kenshi. For his sake, move forth!'_

It was a voice from the Sento…

The Sento…

The swordsman stretched out his right arm, his fingers brushing against the hilt of the ancestral heirloom. With a pained heave, he shifted his body toward the sword, until his gloved hands finally made contact – grabbing the katana and bringing it to his chest, breathing spastically from the effort.

The effect of the dark sorcery receded significantly; and the physical pain of his fresh injuries washed over him like a million tsunamis - drowning all lingering essences of the dark power he had leaned upon.

While the pain temporarily freed him from the demon's malicious hold, it brought with it the glaring revelation; that he would not survive. Not without the aid of the dark magik that would heal his wounds and give him strength.

Yet the sword lent to him some clarity of thinking. Kenshi brought himself to his knees, leaning against the tree trunk as he slowly regained his footing. In spite of his strained effort, his legs simply did not comply, and he fell in heap once more, against the base of the tree – exhausted, and on the brink of unconsciousness.

'_Return us to our resting place, Kenshi. After you, we belong to Takeda.'_

"Tak-eda…" mumbled the swordsman, trying to make sense of the Sento's directives in his muddled mind.

'_**Disown the Sento, Kazimir – and give into me once more. I will reunite you with Takeda..'**_

A small but powerful thought flashed in some forgotten corner of his mind – like a bright star shooting across the pitch-black night.

As it registered, he almost heard a ringing; an alarm bell. A red flag.

Disown the Sento? That can't be right.

'_Your death is nigh, Kenshi. But die honourably, in the audience of your ancestors…' _

The blade left his grip, and levitated in its blue aura in front of him, addressing the swordsman. He was now able to hear the ancestral voice as clearly – as if it was the only sound in existence.

"There is… no honour left…" Kenshi whispered trying to muster the strength the mentally reply back to the blade, but realising that once more, as his consciousness wavered – he could no longer discern the whisperings of the demon, his ancestors and his own mind.

The sword spoke to him once more – chasing away his confusions just as light chases away darkness.

'_There is no bigger honour than becoming one with the Sento… Let that be your destiny, Kenshi…' _

'_**Disown the blade, swordsman! Your ancestors have already forsaken you…'**_

He spat a glob of blood in disgust at the entity's vile recommendation.

Kenshi's response was a throaty growl, emanating somewhere from within the center of his heaving, battered chest – not founded in any conscious thought, but pure instinct of a fiercely independent man, who had never been fettered by anything or anyone, even when he direly needed to be.

"N-never…"

He had made his choice.

The demon was enraged. It roared and howled with a carnal ferocity within Kenshi's being, filling him at once, with an unparalleled strength, and a crippling heaviness that threatened to crush his insides and turn his skin inside out.

Visions danced in front of him – a bullet tearing into Suchin, Takeda brandishing a blade and attacking the thunder god, Raiden… the Shirai Ryu temple, engulfed in flames.

It would not let such an _ideal_ host slip away so easily.

The Sento moved towards Kenshi, who brought up his left hand and grabbed it as he had done so countless times, drilled into him as if in second nature.

The swordsman huffed and growled to himself, deciding to use his pain as the fuel required to accomplish his final task...

He was the battlefield. He was the prize. He was the victor, and he was the loser.

And with whatever that was left of his benumbed, torn mind, he crawled forth – compelling the blade to give him enough strength to make it to the House of Pekara, before he bled to death in the woods surrounding it.

'_My mind holds the key…'_

* * *

**Two hours ago..**

'_My body is a cage… that keeps me … from dancing…' _

He did not remember where he had heard the mournful poem before. He did not care what the words meant, or if any of them made sense or not. His head swam, and he was so very tired...

Kenshi had long lost count of the number of punches that were rained down on his ribs, chest and face. He had long forgotten about the currents of agony that rippled through his leg, his sternum and his shoulders from shattered bones.

Even the pain – as hard as it was, it had reached a point where it simply overwhelmed his nerves. It existed no more for him. Neither did Mavado's words, as he stood over him, sweating from the effort of pummeling him to madness.

Mavado was, undoubtedly, a worthy opponent.

And tonight, the swordsman had been bested by the Red Dragon leader.

Except Takahashi Kenshi did not care. He did not care about Mavado, he did not care about the pain nor the humiliation. All he cared about was the sight unfolding in front of him.

In front of his _eyes._

'_with the one I love…'_

"Suchin…" the swordsman whispered, tears brimming his eyes, before rolling down the sides of his bloody face. His blindfold had been pushed up to his forehead, where it was stained from the sweat despite the bitter cold of the night.

The cursed whites of his irises flashed prominently against the backdrop of deep crimson-red eyes. But that was not the most damning aspect of it all.

He could _see_ her.

There, right underneath the shadows of the trees – glistening pale red under the silvery moonlight, was his beloved. Suchin. Her long hair, darker than the night above them, flowing behind her, her face pale, lips rosy with the hint of a teasing smile, as if harbouring a secret she would deliberately not share with him…

'…_but my mind…'_

'_**Is it not worth it, Kazimir? To be able to see her for once…'**_

The dark voice echoed in his mind, silencing the cries of his ancestors for a moment - dripping with malice, yet sickly sweet in its ministrations, its false promises.

'_Suchin is dead! It's a mirage, a lie! Do not forget so, Kenshi! Your mind holds the key!' _a number of ancestral voices spoke, but the words of the demon still rang with defiant resonance in his ears.

The message was enticing, the darkness ever so near…

Kenshi was beginning to forget what his name was. Did it matter? Did it ever matter at all? He was but a man, waging a war he had no means of winning by himself – cursed by his own, estranged from his family, drowning in his own shame…

He felt himself standing right at the brink – teetering along the lip of an abyss that called out so gently to him. The fists, the blades, the kicks that knocked the breath out of him, pouring onto his crushed body – what were they all but fragments and figments of self-constructed sensory perceptions imposed onto the world, and deemed 'reality.'

No. It had never mattered. He had never mattered – to anyone. So why even entertain the false notion?

Kenshi tilted his head to the side, to gain a better view of his beloved. His breath came out in bloody coughs, spilling blood down one side of the face in a murky, crimson river. Mavado continued to punch his chest – right where his rib-bones met at the point of his broken breast-bone. Every blow splintered his sternum further, eliciting a sharp, searing pain that shot through lightning all over the swordsman's body, making his breathing almost impossible.

The swordsman's eyes merely narrowed slightly in its acknowledgement – he was absolutely entranced by the image before him.

Mavado ceased in his efforts, and smiled deviously at his accomplishment.

It was working.

'_**She's beautiful, isn't she? But there is more…'**_

A small, dark head appeared – peeking from behind Suchin's stationary form. He recognised the cerulean eyes, _his own eyes_ staring back at him from the face of the little boy barely taller than his mother's elbow. Suchin looked down, smiling graciously at him, before allowing the boy to pass in front of her.

He shyly moved up front, fixing his gaze toward the swordsman, as Suchin held his shoulders, affectionately. The boy smiled a crooked grin. His mother bent down, whispering something in his ear. The child suddenly laughed; letting out an innocent giggle that fell on his ears in a pleasant cascade echoing through the air.

He had been right, the boy was his spitting image, yet with his mother's soft smile.

"Tak-eda…" Kenshi rasped, bringing his arm from underneath him, extending his hand from his position. With trembling fingers, the swordsman tried to grasp the wisps of the effervescent image before him. He gasped, smiling a gleeful smile – with the incredulous, serendipitous delight of a weary traveller dying of thirst, coming across an oasis in his dying moments.

Suddenly, a tortured expression immediately replaced Suchin's serene face – her eyes widened, hands shooting up to her chest as a blood-curdling shriek escaping her. Takeda hid his face, scared, into his mother's skirt.

"N-no… Do-n't…"

Suchin let out a long, tired sigh. Yet it accompanied a perfect circle of blood-red, forming in the middle of Suchin's chest. It grew larger and larger, enveloping her entire bosom in its wake. The little boy sobbed endlessly, clutching at her limp hand, her eyes staring ahead, dead, unclosed… exactly as they had been when he'd found her, dead in Lampang.

Her final sigh rang in the swordsman's ears; howling with the force of a hurricane, as the wind picked up all around them in the woods.

They began to fade into the darkness of the night – becoming grayer, more transparent, until he could see the woods behind them.

A whisper of a cry escaped the swordsman's throat. And then, the woods themselves drowned themselves in a familiar gray-black darkness – as his blindness set in again.

"C-come back…" Kenshi croaked, his voice hoarse. He brought up his arm again, waving it in front of him wildly – as if it had been the first time his vision had vanished into nothingness. "P-please... c-come back…"

Mavado laughed humourlessly at his pathetic efforts. There was never anything in the direction where the swordsman had wistfully looked at, and was now reaching for at this current moment. The cult leader shook his head in disbelief, wondering if there was any depth left for the swordsman to fall further.

It was as desperate as he could get; the pinnacle of sheer degradation. Mavado relished the moment like one would an exquisite sight.

'_**Ahh.. you overreach, swordsman. This was merely a sample; your end of the bargain is yet unpaid…'**_

'_Don't listen to it, Kenshi!'_

'_It's all a ruse, you know better than that!'_

'_Mere smoke and shadows cannot bring down a Takahashi!'_

'_You owe it to us to fight: to us, to yourself, to Suchin and Take-'_

'_**Blood for blood, Kazimir… It's that simple…'**_

"AAAAARGH!" the swordsman cried as the voices echoed incessantly in his head, bouncing off the walls of his utterly confused mind, merging into words and phrases that stopped making sense to him, drowning out his own inner thoughts. He brought his hands up to his head and held his temples, writhing, convulsing in a psychosomatic agony that had nothing to do with his current beating.

Kenshi. Kazimir. The demon. His ancestors. The Sento.

He could not make out any of them. He could not remember his name. He could not remember anything. He could not hear himself _think_ amongst the maddening cacophony echoing endlessly in his ears.

'_No. Kenshi. Remember who you are.'_

'_**The wraith was right: what use is a blind man than to mull over mere names?'**_

"Stop… Just-stop…."

Mavado got up on his knees, and brushed himself off. This had been far too easy for him – had he been alone, the swordsman would have surely defeated him.

Before he'd brandished the dagger, Takahashi Kenshi had had the upper-hand in their duel. Calculating, meticulous and unnaturally aggressive; he had not even bothered to grace the conflict with his usual banter. Kenshi had attacked Red Dragon with an ice-cold fury that was distinctly his own.

Mavado smirked at the sight of the swordsman trying to sort his mind out, as weak as he could be. Nitara's blood magik would overwhelm him soon enough, given how he was already delusional and semi-coherent.

He'd come running like a hapless dog to their service soon enough. Daegon would most certainly be pleased.

Raising an eyebrow, Mavado paused for a second though, frowning thoughtfully. He had been quite a persistent annoyance to their operations in the past five years, since his betrayal; leading them to a wild goose-chase across the entire continent, before ending his journey in the heart of the hell-wraith's territory. Hao's demise, the idiot - flash in the pan that he was, yet still had set back the Red Dragon.

Indeed. Daegon would not be in need of his services this…. _urgently_.

With an evil grin, Mavado drew his hookswords once more, twirling them around his wrists expertly, purely out of habit. With a satisfied tilt of his head, he plunged the blades deep into Takahashi Kenshi's back.

The swordsman howled in agony – his cry ricocheting off the bare woods – breaking the silence of the night. Kenshi did struggle to break the Red Dragon's hold, yet the latter merely held his head down by bashing a heeled boot to the back of his skull, as he kept pushing his blades deeper yet still into the swordsman's broken body – until he felt the steel would pierce and come out from the opposite end.

Mavado then pulled his hookswords out, jerking Kenshi along in such a manner that the swordsman was practically lifted from the ground. The blades pulled out fragments of the swordsman's ribcage, puncturing his lungs so that sickly, gargling noises was all that he could manage in the throes of agony.

"That, was for your treachery," Mavado calmly remarked, as he holstered his weapons, and turned to take his leave – to return the dagger to the Red Dragon Temple in Linxia, China.

"Wipe yourself, now. You've yet to collect your due from Daegon."

These were the last words Kenshi had heard before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

_House of Pekara_

_Unknown location,_

_Primorsky Krai District, Russia._

_**Present**_

The warrior-ancestors resident in the Sento, had been defeated long, long ago. Their silence, greeting Kenshi for the first time since he was blinded, was almost welcome.

It now a battle in between the demon, and whatever was left of Kenshi's sanity.

"Turn back, swordsman – your intentions are vile!" boomed a cacophony of voices in the catacombs, bouncing off the stone-walls of the labyrinth in the ancient structure. What spoke as manifestations from the Sento, now rang throughout the chamber, as if the walls itself were made of Takahashis' spirits.

'_**Kenshi is dead. Kenshi remains dead. And you have-'**_

"QUIET, DEMON!" roared the swordsman, his own shout echoing now, morphing into an animalistic sound, one he had never before heard.

He was near the Well of Souls – he could feel the dread, the dark memories invade his ravaged mind as he doggedly dragged his profusely bleeding body through the maze.

Though blind to his own countenance, Kenshi was dishevelled and injured beyond recognition. His once neatly combed hair was now matted with crusting blood over his forehead, his nose broken and bleeding into the patchy beard that was growing on his face.

The man, priding himself on his perfect posture, was now bent over at the waist, leaning against the wall for support as he shuffled painfully – clutching his chest and trying not to breathe for as long as he can, to ease the pressure in his lungs.

Yet his skin, glistening with sweat, muddied with blackish blood, was criss-crossed with the markings of the demon.

Kenshi had relied on its evil strength to get this far, but this was his prerogative – Takahashi Kenshi was firmly in control of whatever was left of his mind.

'_**Your struggle is pointless, Kazimir.'**_

"You-_will_-get-out-from-me," Kenshi enunciated each word threateningly to the demon. "One-way, or the other…"

'_**I will deliver you, Kazimir. Your bloodline will survive through me…'**_

"Turn back, trespasser!" the unison of ancestral voices rumbled with a chilling finality. Kenshi had heard it before, back when he had sauntered into the catacombs before being blinded.

Before, when _he_ was called Kazimir, the restless, arrogant young swordsman.

But now, the motive of his return to the place of his judgement, was not to adorn his arsenal with a worthy sword, but to cleanse, to depurgate himself from the clutches of the blood demon.

Destiny had written one final draw of blood to his name, from the legendary blade, before he finally returned it to where it belonged.

He reached the Well of Souls after a deafening silence, from both the demon and the House of Pekara itself. With his grossly weakened spiritual vision, he could make out the cylindrical structure, sitting atop the raised platform, enclosed with the statues of the long-dead Takahashi ancestors.

The Sento was at home. Kenshi could feel it, as he closed the distance in between him and the ancient structure, feeling the strength that carried him thus far, now slip away as he collapsed at the base of the Well.

The entire underground chamber lit up then, cerulean flames sparking out from torches high up in the crevices of the cavern; washing everything in an eerie electric blue hue.

'_**Kazimir, what are you…'**_

Kenshi crashed to his knees, fresh bleeding erupting from his chest and back, flowing in rivers down his crouching form, his head spinning. He steadied his swaying body, and tried to straighten himself as much as he could on his bent knees, hissing in pain from the effort.

The statues of the Takahashi ancestors looked down upon Kenshi as crouched, form in judgement, just as they had looked down upon, and handed out their sentence to the brazen Kazimir decades ago.

The swordsman took off his torn blindfold, as memories of his past ordeals began to flash in his mind – his blindness, his struggle against Shinnok, the loss of his family…

It had all come to pass – culminating into this point in time. He drew his face up, stretching his neck, taking in the aura of his ancestral temple and inhaled deeply despite the pinching, cutting pangs.

He had been spared, in a way, now that he came to think of it. This was his last chance of salvaging some modicum of honour.

Kenshi wiped his hands off his upper arms. He began to then wrap the blindfold midway along the blade of the Sento with unusually steady hands.

He found himself chuckling. He scarcely believed how _traditional_ his actions had turned out to be, despite his careless dismissal of tradition in his youth.

It did not matter, just as nothing else did.

'_**Kazimir, NOOO!'**_

"Kazimir is dead," Kenshi whispered, as he braced himself, and took his position. "… And soon, you will join him."

Barely a second passed since his final declaration; Kenshi plunged the Sento deep into his abdomen.

A deliberately muted groan escaped his lips in the wake of his act. The demon screamed a long, terrified shriek as if set aflame from within – threatening to shatter his eardrums.

With a tensely gritted jaw, one that threatened to crush his molars, the swordsman slashed the blade from left to right. The demon's inhuman shriek echoed in the chamber even though Kenshi deliberately tried to disallow the demon any disgraceful display as long as _he_ remained its host.

A mouthful of blood stemmed from Kenshi's mouth, flowing in thick streams down the sides of his lips, as the swordsman felt the gray-darkness of his vision blend into nothingness.

With a last, final show of strength, he clutched the clothed blade again – and without a moment's worth of hesitation, he thrust it into his heart with a guttural cry – feeling the cold blade against his hot, throbbing muscle, before pulling it back out, and placing it beside him.

As Takahashi Kenshi's dying heart slowed down, his body slumped, face first, falling onto the cool stone ground below him. The darkness claimed him in its entirety now, as the demon's shrieks faded away.

Several long moments passed, yet even in his dying moments, he never registered the crackling sound of metal cracking, as the Sento's blade first glowed, then shattered in the same threads of Takahashi blood still clinging onto its steel surface.

Neither did he hear the distinctly deafening clap of thunder resounding within the ancestral chamber, as the echoes of the demon's scream finally began to fade away, nor the sound of footsteps hurrying toward him.

All he saw was Suchin - once more, walking softly to him; crouching beside him, and kissing away the kenshi's tears from his blind eyes.

Nameless. Worthless. It did not matter. No one carried a name in death, anyway.

The swordsman would die with Suchin's spirit as his audience.

He had salvaged much more than honour this night.

* * *

Ohhh dayyyummm! Kenny-boo, what did you doooo?! :O *dodges rotten fruit and eggs headed for her way*

Anyhow.. xD tehhehe that's actually a very evil cliffhanger - I do apologise :P There are obviously a lot of plot-dynamics at play here, but fret not - all will be explained in the next two updates. This particular arc is going to be maximum 2-3 chapters, but there is still a lot of explaining left. I've a few thousand words of research compiled for Kenshi's/Takahashis' backstory, so expect a hefty slice of history in the next updates :)

So here are some references which are important to this :)

Main inspiring song behind this: **_My Body is a Cage_** by **_Peter Gabriel_**. This is a cover, though I haven't even heard the original myself. An extremely haunting track, one I believe is incredibly apt to this and I highly recommend reading (or re-reading this) after giving it a listen.

**Kazimir: "famous destroyer (of peace)": **Russian name, of Slavic origin that has many variants and alternate meanings as well. More will be explained in the next update, but Kazimir was Kenshi's real name, since Kenshi itself means 'swordsman' - based on his father's name. (I've dropped hints earlier about this as well).. After he was blinded, Kenshi renamed himself as per what he'd taught Hanzo earlier - letting his struggle be his identity, thereby deciding to go by the simple word 'Swordsman' instead of his real name (Kazimir) which I believe he would now hate with a passion.

**"... (Kenshi) is dead, (Kenshi) remains dead..."** : inspired directly from the quote "God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him." By the famous German philosopher, **Friedrich Nietzsche**, published in the _Gay Magazine_ and perhaps in other works as well, including _The Madman_, which was a topic of study in a course of mine, last year. It's a short article, eye-opening even if the statement is a bit controversial.

**Hara Kiri:** also known as _'Seppuku'_ \- traditional Japanese form of suicide. Considered an honourable way to die, preferred by the noblemen and warrior classes. I used Wikipedia as a reference point for this, but this is also inspired by the Hara-Kiri in MK: Deception.

**The McGill Pain Questionnaire:** Before y'all raise your eyebrows and judge me (yes, I studied Psychology in first year :P) let me explain :P This is a medical questionnaire, available online easily - which basically asks patients to tick the correct description and intensity of pain they are experiencing. What this helped me with in this update, was ranking and describing Kenshi's pain in this chapter, after his hefty beating at Mavado's hand (ALSO, in line with the original timeline :3). I highly recommend it to those who want to write action scenes or about pain in general, it was quite helpful :)

**Blood Demon:**Yep, the very same one from the MKX comics! The Takahashi lineage, though existed centuries ago, have enough links to sorcery to be able to cast wardings and curses - such as the one that caused Kenshi's blindness initially. Yet the effects remain in the blood - while others succumbed to the call of the Blood Demon, Kenshi was able to resist it, thanks to the power lent to him by the spirits in the Sento, as well as his lineage. Though not entirely, of course - he was more or less a battleground in between the Sento and the demon.

**So that's all from me for now, folks! :) I really hope you all enjoyed this update.. Please do review, and let me know what you thought of the dialogue, the expansion of the comics - what you liked, what could be better - anything, please feel free to let me know how it went! It truly means the world to me! Thanks and enjoy! :)**


	11. Of Bonds of Blood II

Helloo everyone! :)

So I'm FINALLY back with a new update! xD Ahh well. I'll be very blunt right now - this chapter gave me a helluva tough time. I couldn't help but feel that it dragged on and on - and coupled with getting back to school and everything - I just did not know what to do with this snooze-fest. I'm honestly not very proud of it :(

Nevertheless.. I have been soo overwhelmed by the lovely comments and reviews you've all showered my way. They all mean soo much to me, thanks so much everyone! :3 I couldn't find the time to respond separately, so I'm just gonna do that below right here :)

**The-06:** My Tumblr buddy! :'D Thank you SO much for your heart-warming words! My main aim with this story from the start was to merge the events of the two timelines together in a way that does justice to all the characters and their respective canon events.. I don't think I can delve into Nitara's blood magik here yet, but that too is an avenue I would love to explore someday.. Thanks again for everything *hugs* :'D

**Poe's Daughter:** Wowieee! Thanks so much for your review! xD Now you know how dem cliffies feel, yo! xD To be honest, since this is more of a filler story, and also since we all know that Kenshi *obviously* survives as he's in the game, I personally thought the cliffhangers would not make that much of an impact.. Hence I served out an extra serving of suffering to my favourite swordsman (seriously, he'd kill me by now if he were real for all the crap I make him suffer through x_x) - just for the extra oomph xD Thanks again for your review :'D

**Obelisk of Light:** Helloo buddy! :) Thanks so much for your review ^.^ .. I was really on the fence about mentioning Raiden, but then I just decided to roll with it.. xD I eagerly await your response for this update too :3

**PunkRoseBlitz:** Thanks soo much my friend! :3 Yeah, I know real life can be such a bummer at times.. You are way too kind, my friend - I just hope you like this one too... :')

**Hell-On-Training-Wheels:** Awww, my bud! *hugs* xD Now you see what happens when you torture Norah and leave us hanging in the air? :P (J/k)... well actually not, you tear us apart too, friend! xD But overall, I'm so glad to read you thought it was good! I had a hard time writing the blood demon in a way that was independed from the Sento - yet all inside Kenshi's head while he went through his own inner identity crisis.. TBH, I don't even know if I as a writer have it in me to do something like that with other characters, I keep thinking that I can only write a small niche of such tortured chars ... But irrespective - your words truly made my day, and I can't thank you enough for expressing such faith in me... :'D

**GetCaged:** Aww thank you so much, buddy! I hope you like this update too ^.^

**iceangelmkx:** Dang, I hate that blood demon too... *joins you in throwing potatoes at it* xD Kenshi is a toughie, truly - he was going to survive, but in order to make the threat real I deliberately had to go the 'extra mile' in torturing him.. xD I'm glad I was able to somehow pull it off, though! Thanks so much for your heart-warming review, bud! *hugs*

**RoseScytheElysium:** Awww buddy! Thanks sooo much! I truly hope you'll enjoy this one too! *hugs*

Before I begin, I'd like to mention one last thing: us writers often have to rely on inputs from others to get the juices flowing. For this particular update, I would like to especially thank _**iceangelmkx, the-06 **_and_** obelisk of light**_ with me, helping me find my way whenever I'd be lost and guiding me through my own ideas. I literally could not have written this without any of your help - you guys, thank you SOO much! *wipes happy tears* :')

Also - it is almost 5AM, and I am utterly exhausted.. Therefore, I'll upload the references in the morning (or, er.. noon :P) - so my sincere apologies on that front! :(

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Pinky swear.**

* * *

_**The Takahashi Family Saga**_

_**Of Bonds of Blood**_

_**II**_

* * *

_'If only I could see your face once, my love – I would spend the remainder of my life thanking every god and deity in existence…'_

_He had thought this countless times during the time he spent with his beloved, yet Takahashi Kenshi had never mentioned her his sentiments, his yearning perhaps once. Why should he have, when he knew it was not to be..._

_He was wrong._

_He saw her again._

_Kenshi smiled as he inhaled the fresh air deeply, sighing lazily as he stretched out onto the lush green grass._

_The sky. He had almost forgotten how much he'd missed seeing the night sky; illuminated by the moon – a bright, shining sphere, glowing white. Millions of stars littered the heavens above them, glittering like diamonds across the dark, velvety sky._

_The wind touched his face like a cool whisper, and he slowly closed his eyes. All around him, he was surrounded by the glorious scent of jasmine, and fresh water…_

_He was in bliss._

_Suchin did not move an inch from her position, cradling Kenshi's head in her lap as he lay relaxed on the ground. It was as if the painful years of their separation, his pursuit – had all rolled back – transporting them back to the time they had been young, unbound, careless and free..._

_Her long fingers deftly combed through his neat black hair – ruffling the soft strands. Kenshi would never let anyone touch his hair, except for her. She knew the act calmed his nerves. At least one of them would be at peace…_

_"Suchin, what's wrong?" asked Kenshi, his voice laced with concern. From his angle, he saw the delicate white neck, craned sideways, fixed at a certain point along the horizon. She seemed deep in thought, and did not respond to him, yet her hands continued to caress his forehead and hair, absent-mindedly._

_Raising himself on a forearm, Kenshi frowned as he saw nothing at the point where his beloved kept looking._

_"There's nothing there…" he murmured, before stopping himself. Suchin's warm brown eyes were brimming with tears, her soft mouth pursed slightly, gaze set incessantly upon that one single point – with a pained, wistful expression._

_"I'm waiting for him…"_

_There was an unparalleled clarity in his mind – he could perceive his thoughts as clearly as if they were strings of pearls; glittering, tangible, instead of vague ideas in his mind. And the subject of her question, was perhaps the most precious of his thoughts: he immediately recognised whom she was waiting for._

_Kenshi sat up, turning his body so he could face Suchin. He softly touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, trailing his hand to her thick mane of silky, long hair._

_"It is not his time yet, Suchin. There is so much he has to accomplish first…"_

_"He has your burning ambition, Kenshi…" her voice sounded far-off, yet her lower lip quivered slightly._

_"But your curiousity," the swordsman smiled sadly as he fondly recalled the moments he had shared with his son._

_"And your eyes…" Suchin finally tore her gaze away from the horizon to look directly into the man's newly restored eyes. Bright azure orbs, the colour of a cloudless sky and the deepest oceans, stared back at her._

_Her son's eyes…_

_"How could you leave us, Kenshi?" Suchin whispered, her voice breaking. Tears overwhelmed the watery barrier in her eyes, stretching boulders across her almost translucent cheeks._

_Kenshi instantly got on his knees, and in a single, fluid movement, took his beloved's form and enveloped her into a passionate embrace. Trembling, he held her, and found himself gazing at the same spot – as if somehow, their son would magically appear from behind the hills and join them._

_"You never told me," he breathed at her temple, pressing her head into the crook of his neck. After a while, he cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead._

_"I'd have left everything in a heartbeat, Suchin. Why did you not tell me?" Kenshi implored, his voice strained, and hollow._

_Suchin did not say a word, but wept softly into Kenshi's shoulder. She melted into his arms, her form filling out and fitting into his hardened body as if she had been tailor-made exactly for him. He had never imagined her to be so beautiful – innocent doe eyes, beautiful hair, the full mouth he knew would spout the wittiest words whenever she chose to._

_He drank in her sight, committing to memory every curve, every line – the way the silver moonlight illuminated her._

_She was a dream._

_The realisation struck him in the center of the chest, as if a canon had been fired his way. Like all dreams, he had absolutely no recollection of how he came to be in this place. Was he alive? Was his Suchin not real? Was all this a lie? How could it be…_

_None of it should matter anymore – but Suchin's words unsettled him. And once more, he found himself drawn toward the dark unknowns…_

_"It is real, my love," she spoke softly, her voice tinkling in his ears like a melodious song he'd yearned to hear…_

_There was that smile again – teasing, sensual, secretive…_

_"What is it?" he murmured, as he wiped away the traces of her tears and kissed her eyelids._

_"I'm waiting for you, too…"_

_His eyes widened, mouth parting in surprise. He had no trouble understanding what she implied, yet he could not find the will to believe her._

_Suchin placed a hand against his cheek, and beamed at him with moist eyes and the sweetest smile. He saw Takeda reflected in the curve of her lips, and the memory made him crack a crooked grin of his own._

_"For my sake… Do not leave him alone…"_

_A strange, aching took over the swordsman's form. Emanating from the center of his chest, it quickly intensified, spreading to his ribs, shoulders and legs – and fell in an excruciating wave of pain in his back._

_Her hand slowly slid from his cheek, his jaw, and neck, down to his chest: over his heart. The pain vanished from the region where her soft hand trailed down his body._

_"He needs you, Kenshi…"_

_She clutched the front of his robe with an urgency that nearly broke him. Yet he felt darkness close in on everything in his sight - and a familiar, darkness spread out its arms and took him in its incessant, black embrace._

* * *

_Unknown Location,_

_The Sky Temple, Earthrealm._

"Suchin, is not here, Kenshi…"

The swordsman, just emerging from his brain-numbing coma, almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the voice. He groaned painfully, as his head pounded from the sudden sensory overload after remaining dormant for so long, as he slowly began to register a dull ache plaguing perhaps every part of his broken body.

He thought the voice familiar, but could not put a name to it immediately. It did not matter - currently, he was not in the position to put any strain on his mind. But with the Sento…

Kenshi patted beside the futon where he lay, covered in sheets and pillows far too soft for his weathered body. At that moment, he realised he was not wearing any of his armour, nor gloves – and texture of cotton feeling rough against his heightened sense of touch.

He began to grow increasingly flustered. He knew did not have the strength to summon his spiritual vision, and could not call out to the Sento.

Where could he have put it… How did he make it here… It was, consequently, his thoughts about his swords that led him to think about his current circumstances.

"The Sento was designed for kombat, not to be used against the Takahashi lineage.."

It wasn't Raiden. Kenshi could at least tell as much. But his senses were tingling strangely; he felt the power enclosed in this being, far stronger than any mortal – similar to how it felt whenever he was close to the deity…

"Fujin?" he called out cautiously, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Indeed, swordsman." There was a rustle of clothing, and Kenshi heard a small breath escape the wind god as he seated himself beside the injured telepath. He held the swordsman's wrist, and felt his pulse and then, his forehead, before removing his hands.

"When you committed seppuku, the blade of the Battle shattered, fragmenting the souls of your ancestors…"

A pang of sore pain rose in his side, as Kenshi raised and arm, and tried to settle into the mattress. It was a while before he fully realised what the wind god had just confessed to him.

Kenshi almost sat up straight at his words, before gasping from the wave of sharp pain that struck him in his ribs. Groaning, he leaned back on his elbows, as Fujin immediately helped him settle, arranging pillows in a way that the swordsman would be comfortable.

"Wh-what?"

"You were bleeding to death – the broken blade beside you… delusional to no end…"

Suchin had cradled his head in her lap – and it angered Kenshi to see the memory be violated with such accusations.

"Don't you dare-" he growled, yet was cut off.

"Raiden barely made it in time to save your life," returned the wind god, irritated.

Kenshi gritted his teeth, furious. He folded his arms over his chest and huffed indignantly. "Looks like he hasn't yet learned to not intrude in affairs that do not concern him…"

Fujin's eyes narrowed as he glared at the swordsman. Never had an Earthrealmer dared to utter such an outrageous comment in his presence!

"Thankless fool!" he hissed bitterly. "We cared for you all this time; nursed you back to life – and this is how you show your gratitude?!"

Kenshi turned toward the wind god, frowning. "I never asked to be saved, Fujin. And I _certainly_ did not want to keep you from your godly duties," his harsh, yet icy tone could have cut through concrete.

Fujin already did not prefer dealing with Earthrealmers directly – choosing to serve his duty as the protector of the Jinsei in isolation. Yet he did know enough about the beings of his realm, to understand something else belied the injured man's crude words.

"It is the hatred of men that put you here, Kenshi – not the vengeance of gods."

"Does it matter, Lord Fujin?" Kenshi answered hoarsely. "I've been dealt a cruel hand by men and gods alike…"

"I never took you for the self-loathing kind, Kenshi," Fujin returned crossly.

"Wouldn't be the first time I'd have heard of _your_ kind's fallibility…"

The remark cut through Fujin like a dagger, but he let it slide by. He never really could understand Raiden and his foolish love for mortals, his ungrateful champions. He folded his arms over his powerful chest, and straightened his back, answering to the retort with one of his own.

"I have to wonder if this broken shell of a man the same who convinced Hasashi Hanzo to save himself."

Kenshi clenched his eyes shut. He knew running his mouth, spouting his half-cooked philosophy on others without thought would come haunting back one day. He suddenly found himself lost, confused – with no sense of direction on where he was standing, or where to go from here.

As if all the fortresses he had erected in his mind to rationalise all his actions, had come tumbling down in the wake of his failure.

_His failure…_

"Then, you're not alone…"

In that moment, it dawned on Kenshi how he had gone back and did precisely what he had stopped Hanzo from doing all those years ago.

The defeated inflection of his voice was not lost on Fujin, who arched an eyebrow and regarded the swordsman once more.

"Yet here you are… perhaps not in the best of shapes, but alive, breathing… I wonder for what purpose…"

"No purpose; just my stubbornness. A character deficit, if you will."

"I will stick with purpose, thank you for your ever-so-enlightening-input, Takahashi Kenshi."

The swordsman let out a breathy laugh. Fujin's sarcasm was brutal, but not unkind. It oddly refreshed him.

"So while we're on the subject of 'purpose'," Fujin continued, as he leaned over and began to clean the stitches in his collar. "One has to wonder what good taking your own life would have done your cause…"

"I deserve far worse," Kenshi replied darkly.

"There are fates worse than death, Kenshi. Ask Jackson Briggs- but no… Forgive me, _O learned one_, I forgot you obviously do not care, since you were spared such a fate."

"Was I, truly?" He hissed sharply as solvent burned his tender wound, as it was rubbed away gently by the wind god. He had long lost count of the misfortunes that had come to comprise his destiny – and now, with the loss of the Sento, he could not even fathom what good he would now be, to anyone…

"Then why do I feel I'm a tad too familiar with the fate in question…?"

"You do not. This reprieve merely makes you indifferent."

Kenshi raised his neck to regard him quizzically, before leaning back, placing a wrist on top of his forehead, clenching his eyes shut.

"Tell me, Lord Fujin – have you ever loved, and then deserted someone? Told yourself it was what was best for them, in the name of duty, even when your heart told you otherwise?"

"I was never afforded the opportunity – in the name of _my_ duty, Kenshi," Fujin shook his head, gravely. "So you would have to excuse me if I do not share tales of lost love and misery over tea, or drinks… or whatever it is Earthrealmers do these days over their grief…"

"Well, well," Kenshi drawled, smirking wryly. "It isn't every day a mere mortal manages to one-up a god now, is it?"

Fujin frowned seriously, and applied pressure to the wound, eliciting a small cry from the swordsman. "You have your answer, arrogant one?"

Kenshi growled in his throat, as the sting began to subside, trying to suppress a grin from breaking out. It apparently did not take much to get under the deity's skin. "My apologies." He ground out, sighing in the wake of the receding pain.

"I would advise you to rest, but you and I both know you will not comply," Fujin stated after a brief silence, as he cleared away his cleaning instruments. He took his position on his knees, seated beside the reclining swordsman, his expression perplexed, and concerned.

"Say all that burdens your heart-"

"I am not obligated to do-"

"I can dress your wounds, swordsman," replied the wind god. "But only you can rid yourself of your poison."

Kenshi knew without a shadow of doubt, that the deity was right. He exhaled slowly, feeling the fragility of the freshly bonded bones in his sternum and ribs with each breath; bringing with it mild discomfort, but thankfully no pain.

And no lingering essence of the demon either.

He had rested long enough; his mind and thinking were crystal clear, even if he lacked the physical strength in his limbs. It was a final rite, to get it out of his system before returning to his normalcy.

"I used to see her, almost every night in – dreams, visions, whatever you want to call them…" began Kenshi, his voice tender and low. "And when I did not, I would be reminded of her at some point during the day… The separation, the desertion – it… never really affected me. Because in a way, Suchin was with me all along the way, wasn't she?"

"But it's bewildering," he gave a throaty, cynical laugh, "how easily we can become accustomed to such little things… Forgetting that they are favours granted to the likes of us who don't find much in the way of solace, anywhere…"

He sighed, as a bittersweet pang crept up to his chest, arresting his heart in its hold.

"But after that night, when I discovered her dead, in Lampang… they – stopped… The dreams, everything…" Her shrieking voice rang out within the confines of his mind. Kenshi was immediately reminded of her dead face, frozen in her final mask of horror…

"Just when I needed to see her the most. To see if her spirit was at ease, to see if she blamed me for her death. She was gone…"

Kenshi shook his head, trying to shake the image off. He pursed his lips, tried to compose himself before continuing.

"Five years. For these past five years, I've clung onto every memory I had of her and our son – willing myself forth… because no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I meditated and calmed my rage – I could not see them in my dreams… And I dared to think I may be _forgetting_ their faces…"

Fujin leaned back on his seat, and pursed his lips in thought. Yet he did not disturb the telepath from his monologue.

"Perhaps it was my own dark revenge, blocking out the purity of her spirit from entering my vision. Or Daegon's warped up sorcery … or even that damned post-traumatic disorder Sonya keeps harping about - Nothing…"

"Until that night in the woods… I heard the demon's call, and I saw her… saw them both, with these very cursed, blind eyes. And what I did to them…" His voice shook as I uttered these few words, and he bit the insides of his cheeks, chin slightly quivering.

He could still see it clearly in his mind's eye – he could hear her final sigh raging like a storm in his ears… The perfect circle of blood staining her shirt… the half-open, dead eyes.

"I never hated myself more than I did at that moment."

Takeda's bright blue eyes, bloodshot, raining fists down his chest as he screamed and cried for his mother – the night of their parting…

"So when you dragged yourself to the House of Pekara, it was not just to honour your ancestors…"

Kenshi laughed quietly at that, although there was no humour in his mirth. "There was no honour is anything I did that night, Lord Fujin… I wanted to die from the shame of putting them through it all; before the utter foolishness of the greater 'good' crept up to my brain…"

A silence fell in between the two, and though he loathed to admit it, Kenshi did feel a weight lifting off from his chest.

"You glorify me by calling me a 'champion', Lord Fujin. But I see it differently. A soldier, with a job to do; a murderer, if I need to be. Even a failure – one who could not protect his family, nor his ancestors… Your titles cannot mask any of this."

Fujin did not reply for several long moments. He processed the swordsman's words, and attempted to give meaning to them in his mind. As a protector of the Jinsei, he had maintained distance from his realm's mortals for many centuries now – and he had gotten used to his isolation over the course of time.

Yet he could not suppress a small smile from gracing his features, as he vividly recalled another blinded Earthrealm warrior, who had taken part in and progressed in the Mortal Kombat tournaments long, long ago. One who too, readily denounced her achievements in the wake of her past…

"You remind me of another fighter, Kenshi…" began the wind god, his voice betraying the beginnings of a smile. "A valiant, wise woman who defended the realm, more than a millennia ago… despite her own handicap…"

"The Matriarch?" Kenshi whispered, as he turned incredulously toward the deity. "How do you-"

"Idite fought alongside the actor's ancestors in her time, boy. Before learning the art of sorcery from Queen Himiko herself… casting the same curse over the Well of Souls that caused your blindness…" He paused, nodding to himself as he recalled the memories of centuries past, wistfully.

"She too distanced herself from the politics of the realms, preferring to let her fighting skills talk in lieu of her words – choosing her alliances, discerning in between good and evil, by following her own reason. It is why Raiden and I respected her far more than anyone else of her time. She too, could see more clearly than any other – mortal, and even deity, occasionally. What does your kind call it now… Ahh yes… _Ironically_."

"I _know_ all this, Lord Fuji-"

The deity held up a hand. "Do not interrupt me again," he said, though his tone were deliberately not stern. Kenshi got the message nevertheless, rolling his eyes slightly at the gesture, as he exhaled impatiently.

"As she expanded her command and control, she came closer to Queen Himiko – yet could not keep a reign in on her fascination of sorcery. Idite became too entrenched in the ways of the mystical magik – revelling in its power to make and break reality at will, to transcend the limits of right and wrong… She was able to explore the vacuum existent in between the two… And unbeknownst to even herself, she ended up cursing her own progeny with the same blindness that plagues you…"

Fujin turned to him, gazing intently at Kenshi's face – still black and blue from bruises. The swordsman, without the blindfold, looked strangely vulnerable. Despite the unkempt stubble, unruly hair – his face was remorseful, as if too blank to register any of it. He raised his head, and met the wind god's stare – allowing him to peer into his blind eyes.

The deity did not require telepathy to know that Kenshi was thinking over the episode of his blindness – the sadness in his empty eyes gave him away. And in that moment, he could not help but deem the swordsman, clad in simple white robes, with a hopeless expression, innocent and even child-like.

"I'm aware of her mistake, Fujin; but the curse was destined for me. I do not rue it – it has freed me in a way no other loss can. We can only make do with what we are given…"

Fujin raised his chin, almost bored. "Something tells me you do not listen to yourself very much, boy."

Kenshi narrowed his eyes. "Are you suggesting I accept this, as I did my blindness?" He could almost feel his composure shattering in the wake of sudden, searing rage. "This is not about me! They killed her, Fujin!" he shot back fiercely. "They took a little boy's mother away from him! I ask you – wind god: what did Suchin and Takeda do to deserve this _injustice_-"

"It is all about you. Despite the relevance of your words, this has nothing to do with your beloved," scolded Fujin. "It truly is your old face trying to claw itself out from its prison within your mind, at the behest of your loss, under the false guise of honour."

Kenshi took in shallow breaths, his bare, bandaged chest rising and falling as he struggled to reign in his own anger as it flamed within his veins.

"Every minute, of every day, that I realise I cannot see, Lord Fujin; _reminds_ me that my name is Kenshi, not Kazimir!"

"Even if that is true, then that does not mean you are not selfish… and foolish," returned the wind god. "I've seen many dynasties, kingdoms rise and fall in the name of honour – it is a flawed notion: at the end of the day, it did nothing to save their cause, nor their lives."

"Do not chase after illusions, and do not perceive your loved ones through the eyes of what your kind teaches you, Kenshi. Your greed for glory blinded you once, do not allow your quest for self-indulgent honour _kill_ you… before you exact your due from the demi-god, Daegon."

"I regret any offense that my words may cause you, Lord Fujin," Kenshi began icily. "But do you not think it inappropriate for you to pass such judgement on my kind, as we grovel and spill our blood for the cause of yours, while you float away, unawares, in the clouds?"

The tension was palpable, as the words hung heavily in between them. Kenshi felt it, his raspy breathing was the only sound in the room, though he felt no remorse whatsoever at voicing them.

Fujin nodded slowly to himself as he got up from his seat from beside the swordsman, without reply. He walked over to a large window, and closed his eyes as the early sun's warm rays illuminated the sharp lines of his face. Indeed, the words had stung, but they were not without their truth.

A slow smile began to soften Fujin's features – unknown to the swordsman, who was now considerably weakened without the Sento, and thus could not make use of any of his supernatural abilities.

"You would not say that, if you did not fear our judgement, Takahashi Kenshi," Fujin stated, his voice rock-steady.

The swordsman paused, scoffing slightly incredulously, before he answered. "I care only for what appeases to my sensibilities, Lord Fujin."

Fujin turned and leaned against the windowpane, arms folded across his chest; skeptical, though he said nothing in reply.

"Your judgement cannot save me in battle; fearing it, is thus, of no use to me…" Kenshi simply continued, before sighing. "Neither is your pity."

A triumphant smile played on the deity's lips as he shook his head slowly – marvelling at his answer. Only few could gain the insight of true good and evil, and perhaps fewer yet still could base their lives discerning in between the two. It was a dangerous freedom, yet it was entrusted to a lineage that was certainly deserving of it.

Thousands of years had not eroded the knowledge the slightest – Idite had uttered these very words, centuries ago as she summed up the futility of godly judgements to warriors like her.

Takahashi Kenshi had a good head on his shoulders, and this was precisely what he had wanted to hear from the swordsman all along.

"You've dedicated your life to fighting injustice, albeit on your terms, Kenshi – and therein, lies your honour: certainly worthy of the House of Takahashi," he paused briefly, as he walked toward the door of the hut.

"Raiden will deliver the Sento to you, as soon as you are healthy enough to wield it."

Kenshi looked up sharply at the words, but before he could question the deity any further, Fujin exited the hut.

* * *

_The Sky Temple_

_Weeks later…_

Kenshi walked to the main courtyard of the Sky temple. His gait still carried a slight limp from his broken calf bone – yet he was able to carry himself with a ramrod straight, upright posture. He was clad in his black undershirt, trousers and gloves – dispensing off with the armour that was now damaged beyond repair. He had strangely grown accustomed to wearing that suit, and now found himself a tad exposed without it.

Raiden stood with his arms folded behind him, staring out from the courtyard, toward the snow-capped mountains of Earthrealm. Behind him, on a small table, lay the Sento: wrapped at the hilt with Kenshi's tattered blindfold, the blade itself covered by the remains of his Order's sash – salvaged from the House of Pekara the fateful night Raiden had found its owner bleeding to certain death.

Once he had approached the center of the courtyard from behind, Kenshi coughed lightly in a bid to gain the thunder god's attention. Raiden turned and smiled sincerely to the swordsman, before walking toward the table where the sword lay.

"Takahashi Kenshi, please make yourself comfortable," began the deity, as he seated himself on his knees. Kenshi heard the rustling of his robes, and followed suit.

"Fujin tells me you have recovered substantially…"

Despite his blindness, Kenshi regarded him by turning his face entirely in his direction, nodding his thanks. "With your aid, of course."

The swordsman paused, hesitation written all over his features. Raiden looked kindly towards him, almost saddened at his lack of sight, wondering if he could make out such small gestures and expressions in his mind's eye.

How would it feel, to be cursed by your own to live such a colourless existence…

Kenshi exhaled through his nose, almost exasperatedly.

"I am a direct man, Raiden, and I will speak my mind clearly," began the swordsman, his voice serious. "I have long resented the White Lotus for taking priority in pursuing Shang Tsung, in Mortal Kombat, over me. Though I served your cause against Shinnok, I did so by following my own calling."

He pursed his lips, as Raiden raised an eyebrow, quizzically. All of this, was of course, known to the deity. He was just curious as to where the telepath was taking all this.

"What then, compelled you to intervene, in my affairs? What do you want in return?"

A hint of a smile played over Raiden's features. Kenshi was still but a child, in so many ways…

"I am not just the protector of the realm, but also of my own champions, Kenshi. It is my duty to look out for you…"

The swordsman rolled his eyes at the words, already tired of the conversation. 'Duty, indeed,' he wryly thought to himself. Half the champions would be alive by now, if Raiden had executed his duties properly. But whatever his work comprised, Kenshi did not know neither did he care. He reserved his judgement, and did not offer back a reply.

"You do know, that if I ever deemed it so – I will oppose you in any of your actions, Lord Raiden. Irrespective of all -" he waved a hand, referring to his form as well as the sword in front of him - "this generosity."

"I am certain I'll always find you fighting for the cause of this realm, Kenshi, just as your ancestors did. Therefore, I doubt we will ever find ourselves facing that bridge – nevertheless…." Raiden continued, slightly nodding. "I believe I do have something of yours with me…"

He picked up the ancestral sword delicately and with both hands, offering it to the telepath. Kenshi rose on his knees, bowed deeply to the deity before accepting it with both hands.

A gasp escaped the swordsman's lips, as if in pain. He felt a strange hum of energy, immensely powerful than before, now reverberate through his being, lighting his insides on fire. His spiritual vision returned with a renewed ferocity, almost overwhelming his mind.

At once, he saw the form of the thunder god, his sheer power illuminated as in a fierce glare of the ardent sun – overshadowing the surroundings as they swam into focus in his mind's eye.

After several moments, the initial shock began to recede, and he was able to utilise his reformed ability.

"It feels… very different…"

"Examine the blade, Kenshi."

Taking off his gloves, the swordsman unwrapped the sash from the blade, and touched the cold steel. As his fingers trailed down the length of the blade, he registered the cracks along the surface – and the spaces in between the metal mended with the strangest material, that seemed sharper than even the blade itself.

He saw the Sento clearly in his mind's eye – as if he was looking at it from his own eyes. Yet what concerned him was the lack of the continual ancestral hum he had grown used to now, since after his blindness. There were no whispers in his mind, no discussions or arguments in between the various voices that resided within the blade, and talked directly to him.

And stranger still, was the crimson red glow emanating from the cracks of the sword – as if an indicator of some evil, instead of its previous serene blue.

Before Kenshi could open his mouth to ask about it, Raiden began to explain, the deep timbre of his voice resonating with patience a teacher would perhaps exhibit whilst aiding a struggling student.

"The Sento is alive, Kenshi. It is not merely an ancestral heirloom, but an entity of its own," began Raiden. "Though not sentient – the souls of the Takahashi ancestors required healing from your ordeal… just as any mortal would - within the Jinsei."

Kenshi nodded as he registered the information. "That explains the surge of power…"

While its power was evidently stronger than before, the silence from the blade perplexed Kenshi. He resolved to try and establish direct telepathic contact with it later, when he had taken his leave off the deity.

"I argued with Fujin many times over placing you in the Jinsei as well, Kenshi…" Raiden said, turning his gaze away from the swordsman. "Not only would it have healed you swiftly, but would have also burned away your curse, and restored your sight. Yet he insisted you had made peace with your blindness, and that you would not appreciate the act."

"He is correct, Raiden," the telepath answered. "The power of the Jinsei would disadvantage me. Even if my eyesight is restored, the increased sensitivity in my other senses would overwhelm me, far beyond functionality. I cannot allow that."

A brief silence fell in between them. Kenshi used this opportunity to turn sideways, and swing the blade in arcs and circle, before twirling it expertly over his fingers from its clothed hilt, all from his seated position.

Raiden observed the swordsman as he handled the sword with the ease of a child, perhaps, playing with a small toy. Visibly thinner and paler than before, he had lost some muscle mass, intensifying his rugged features. Yet his comfort was evidently etched onto his face – it reinforced the deity's faith in his abilities perhaps even more so.

"You often proclaim that you are one with the Battle in kombat," Raiden spoke sincerely. "I must say, you are truly like the Sento – perhaps far more than you understand."

"How so?" asked Kenshi, intrigued.

The thunder god allowed a small, sly smile to grace his features. "A handicraft skill, originating from your birthplace, Kenshi. The art of _kintsukuroi_. It is as applicable onto you, as it is onto your blade."

Kenshi directed his attention at Raiden - slowly turning his head away from the sword, as he arched an eyebrow, almost amused.

"My forte is swordsmanship, thunder god, not lacquer-ware," he replied, deadpan.

Raiden chuckled softly, knowing he would retort back with a jibe of this sort. He did not mind the transgression the slightest.

"_Kintsukuroi_ is an ancient technique of mending broken items by lining the fragments with gold and silver – highlighting the cracks, the breakage and emphasising their history," he explained, his bright eyes glazing over the cracks as they glowed a dangerous red. While Raiden did not have access to the secrets resident in the blade, he could feel the souls sighing within the cold steel – teeming with the lives of the Takahashi ancestors.

"These cracks signify that it has endured its own shattering – the same way you have, many a times now…" He glanced over at Kenshi, as he placed the Sento back in his hands. "You have honed your blindness, your skills – and surpassed your own limitations. That, is why I saved you, Kenshi. You have much more to offer to this realm – and especially to your son."

Kenshi looked up, his eyes wide open – his face a mask of remorse he had no strength to hide anymore. The mention of his son brought with it a wave of guilt, and pangs of shame that were reflected clearly even in his blind eyes. And for all his supposed valour, now celebrated by the gods and mortals alike, he felt despair creep in and alienate him from his own countenance.

He had done nothing for his son. And for that reason alone, he would remain a failure all his life. The telepath suddenly found himself too tired, too weary to explain any of that to Raiden. Thus, with a bored nod of his head, he reclaimed back the Sento – finally unwrapping his torn blindfold from its hilt, and wrapping it over his eyes where it belonged.

He stretched out his hand to holster the Sento - but the moment his bare fingers touched the hilt of the sword, he heard a deafening roar – an uncontrollable, inhuman wave of searing rage claimed him, drowning out his own sense of self. His eyes widened from underneath the blindfold until he felt pain, and it felt as if his very soul was struggling to escape the confines of his body.

Yet it was in the unseen realm of his spiritual vision, where he met his own judgement.

* * *

_Idite._

_She visualised in his spiritual vision, armoured in an ancient, samurai suit, and armed with her sickle. Her mask portrayed the mouth of a ferocious warrior, her eyes and head wrapped in bandages – making her intimidating beyond imagination._

_They were in the midst of a ferocious storm - the tails of her bandages fluttering behind her in the fierce winds – in an alien landscape that was entirely foreign to him._

_'Your recklessness, Kenshi.. Your recklessness caused this. How foolish were you to think you could win by waging war on the Battle…'_

_'I protected our legacy, Idite. From a corruption too vile for words… I have no regrets.'_

_The figure, cocked its head, and turned severely toward his direction._

_'You shattered us, young one, in order to free yourself. But, no matter - your burdens are our own now. We will directly aid you – the enemy will face the unrelenting wrath of the Takahashi clan – acting from a singular scion …'_

_He saw them now – all of them. The Takahashi warriors, clad in their battle-wear, appearing in droves in his vision, darkening the horizon in dots and shadows; until he found it entirely drowned in black. Armed, all eager and waiting to attack the moment he beckoned for their aid…_

_An enormous Red Dragon roared viciously in distance, throwing its scaly wings up and letting out a gush of vile, blood-red fire that lit up the dark night – illuminating the forms of the entire Takahashi clan._

_Kenshi found himself at the forefront on the battle field; the Sento lifted highly, and mightily in anticipation of the battle that lay ahead._

_He had found his destiny._

* * *

Not a breath escaped his mouth, not a sigh escaped his lips. Raiden sat across from him, keeping track of the moments that ticked by, knowing his change in demeanour as he touched the Sento's hilt, but unable to deduce what the swordsman was going through.

With a hard shudder, Takahashi Kenshi jolted back to reality – the remnants of the vision still playing in his mind, the words from the Matriarch echoing in his ears, the heat of the dragon's fire still warm on his face – despite the chill from the wind in the Sky Temple.

"You were not with us, were you Takahashi Kenshi?"

Raiden's voice fell in a loud boom on his sensitive ears, yet Kenshi was perhaps too far removed from his reality to pay any heed to how much it disturbed him.

Wiping the thin layer of sweat from his forehead, Kenshi donned the sash over his shoulder, and rose to stand on his feet.

"I have my directives, now; I must take your leave…" Kenshi paused, as he wound the blade to his waist, and turned to directly face the thunder god. "My eternal gratitude, in lieu of your kindness, Lord Raiden." And with that, he bowed deeply to the deity.

Raiden walked over to where Kenshi stood, and smiled graciously at him. "I wish you success in all your battles, Takahashi Kenshi," he said sincerely, before placing a hand on the swordsman's shoulder and squeezing it gently.

Once Kenshi had receded from his line of sight, Raiden thoughtfully mulled the swordsman's circumstances. He had found himself haunted by the prospect of the Kamidogus, and the mysterious, dark entity he'd felt corrupt the purity of his realm – yet disappear before he could eliminate it entirely.

The deity raised an arm and summoned the energy of the thunder – teleporting to alert the cryomancer, Sub-Zero, of the vague developments, before they completely unfolded.

* * *

**References:**

So this serves as the retcon piece - detailing Kenshi/Takahashi's history. If anyone's wondering about Idite - she is the female seen in the Sky Temple in the memorial room in Kung Jin's chapter - a vague, genderbent Kenshi photo who had supposedly fought and defended Earthrealm at some earlier point too... :3

With regards to Queen Himiko - I honestly had reservations including that in, but then I decided to go for it. Despite the depiction in the new Tomb Raider reboot game, there is a fascinating component to Himiko's sorcery - and it made sense for me to include in that angle to sort of bring about the point of how it was possible for these warriors to keep making mistakes even after being blinded..

Kintsukuroi - A Japanese form of lacquering where broken ceramics, pottery, or utensils (etc) were fixed by melding the fragments together with gold or silver. The aim was to illuminate how things can become even more beautiful, especially after being broken. I suggest using google images to see some of the ceramics fixed with this technique; it is honestly very inspiring and beautiful!

The first part -the vision with Suchin - was inspired in-part by a drawing made and posted on Tumblr by **wakingseeecrets**. Please to check it out if you have time (and a few spare boxes of tissue paper) at hand... :'D

**Please, please do review and let me know how it was.. I am specifically nervous about this update - and would like honest opinions on what you all think of it.**

Also, it's my birthday. I turn 22 (X_X). So please make my day? :'D** Thanks again for reading, enjoy everyone! :)**


	12. Of Bonds of Blood III

Hello again everyone! Sorry for the embarrassingly long delay - I had totally underestimated schoolwork and the process of Master's application.. And tbh, it is a bit hard to strike a balance in between academic writing and fiction-writing, imo.. (I can't remember the number of times I wrote standard transition words like however, thus, therefore etc when typing this out x_x)..

Anyhow, first, a round of thank yous to my reviewers and birthday wishers! ^.^ ***cakes, muffins, treats and Kenshi posters for you all! :'D***

**PunkRoseBlitz -** Aww dearest! Thanks so much for your heart-warming comments! *hugs* With every update, I try my best to outdo the previous update, and trust me, this attempt resonates with the readers - Hope you like this one too! :'D

**Obelisk of Light -** You are very welcome, my friend! And honestly, it feels so darn good to gain your approval on the Storm brothers! *pumps fist in the air!* xD I hope you like this one too - esp. the little Edenian surprise in the end! Thanks again! xD

**Iceangelmkx -** Thanks so much for your comments! :'D I'm glad you bought Idite and the Takahashi retcon - admittedly, it was nice detailing that out, but I doubt we will ever see it come to fruition in canon :'( Anyhow, that's what we're all here for, right? xD I hope you like this update too! xD

**Poe's Daughter -** Thank you sooooo much for the comments! :'D And I really was tensed about that - I guess I should have known I have such awesome readers who don't have to rely on the sexy, inyourface action to enjoy a story xD I actually did not have that interpretation in mind, but like the showing/telling thing you shared on tumblr, I'm glad to see this panning out that way too - you just stick with whatever interpretation you feel touches you the most xD Hope you enjoy this one too xD

**BrutusSilentium -** Thanks so much, my friend! Hope you like this too! :D

**Hell-On-Training-Wheels -** Awww, my buddy! *hugssss* I swear, I'll make it up to you with all those tissue boxes with a good, _**satisfying **_Suchin/Kenshi love story arc... *rubs hands with glee while laughing like an idiot* xD I'm really glad the Fujin/Raiden write-ups worked out - it's kinda weird thinking how a an elemental deity would 'think' per se, but meh.. I'm just happy it worked out in the end xD Thanks again for the boost-up, buddy! :'D

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, and no one. But dang, it's just so _darn_ good to write these people out :P**

* * *

_**The Takahashi Family Saga**_

_**Of Bonds of Blood **_

_**III**_

* * *

'_**Ahh… the youngest Takahashi… how I long to taste your blood..'**_

He had never seen the looming chamber before, yet the mere sight of it filled him with a piercing sense of déjà vu. Even in his dream, Takeda felt a vague connection with the place. Although he could not explain with words, he felt it resound within every atom of his body; an elemental, yet _forgotten_ call, yearning to be answered.

The marble figures stood mighty and tall, their faces drawn into furious scowls in the eerie blue light, long shadows accentuating and adding to their ferocity. Most of them were armoured, and all bore weapons of every kind – yet their stern faces were fixed toward a certain point, below…

'_**Would it be as sweet as his?'**_

A single man kneeled, dwarfed by the towering statues that surrounded him. On his knees, trembling, as if taking in a silent judgement from his marble audience.

'_Have faith in me, son…' _Could it be… him?

But there were no pleas made, no defenses given, no confessions uttered. The deathly silence was only filled by his struggles, his uneven breathing as it echoed and bounced off the walls.

'_Heed him son! He will always protect you…' _Suchin's forgotten voice rang in Takeda's ears.

'_**If only he had not succumbed to his madness…'**_

With a muted groan, the man plunged a sword into his abdomen – and the chamber was immediately filled with a shrill, inhuman screech that threatened to thrash his eardrums.

The man threw his neck up and let out a quivering gasp as he removed the katana from his abdomen, gore spilling in rivers from his mouth. But it was only then that his face became visible. Etched in profound agony, dirty with caked blood and mud, a months' worth of unkempt beard…

And pearl-white eyes that bled crimson down the length of his bruised face.

'_Close your eyes, Takeda…'_

'_**Kazimir would have made a good host, child...'**_

There was no doubt about the identity of the man now. Whispers from what seemed like centuries ago, haunting his mind…

It was, indeed, his father.

Before the realisation took root in Takeda's confused, dreaming mind, Kenshi had driven the ancestral blade deep into his heart – with the cry of an animal at the brink of its own, fearful death.

'_**But no matter... the son will take the father's place…'**_

He did not register when Kenshi pulled the blade out finally, or when he collapsed into the gory mess. All Takeda could fix his eyes on, was the visage of his mother. Pale and translucent, yet beautiful as a portrait – she rushed towards the bloody man, crying. Her raven-black hair cascaded down her back, in a silken curtain, as she crouched beside her dying beloved.

The blood flowed from countless wounds on his father's battered body, staining the marble floor underneath him. Now, the crimson flowed and took the shape of a roaring dragon – while the blade of Sento shattered beside it…

'_**If only your father had listened… But perhaps you will….'**_

In his dying moments, Kenshi brought up an arm, shakily, wiping away her tears; while Suchin continued to rain her kisses down his face.

'_You are still loved, my son… I am not dead yet…'_

The distinct, husky baritone of Takahashi Kenshi rang in his ears like a soft, haunting lullaby - whispered to him the eve of his departure, years ago… The only proclamation of love he had ever received from this deserter of a father…

And now, he lay in his mother's arms…

A moment later, Kenshi's hand, cupping Suchin's face, became lifeless – sliding down her chin before thumping onto the ground.

Takeda felt hot tears stream from his eyes, yet he could not move, nor make a sound. It was real. They were real – and this was the first and last time they would ever be together.

'But I'm alone now…'

The last Takeda registered, was an explosion of blinding light that consumed everything, and a final, deafening clap of thunder that shook him to the core…

* * *

_Shore of the Sea of Blood_

_Outworld_

The temperature had dropped to a chilly breeze, and snow continued to fall unperturbed from Outworld's deep purple skies. It must be nearing midnight, he surmised mentally as he continued to walk up the steep climb, knowing he needed to rest for a few hours. The steps, taken forcefully yet with a subtle grace, did not break the swordsman's concentration. He would always be unconsciously alert outside of Earthrealm; even though he hardly had any attachment to his homerealm in his heart.

There was just something latent, something profoundly unsettling about Outworld that made him hypersensitive to everything around him. He guessed it had to do with the vile, gory history of the realm – for it was true, every blade of grass and every pebble of rock almost seemed _sentient_ if he focused too closely on them; as if still screaming in terror of the rule of the current Kahnum, and her predecessor, Shao Kahn, that they bore witness to.

He had seen more dead spirits stalking its plains and valleys than alive Outworldians – always restless, and usually hunting for revenge of a wrongful death. Kenshi shook his head at the thought – it bought a memory too dear to him, one that was perhaps plagued by a similar fear.

Outworld, was an _evil_ place, to his imagining. He wondered if it had been so even before the terror of the Kahns…

As he put his musing to rest, Takahashi Kenshi finally arrived at the cliff overlooking the Sea of Blood. The pristine snow now began to fall heavily, as the temperature dropped even further. The weary traveller pulled his armoured coat tightly around his form, for warmth, expelling a long breath in a fog of vapour. He reached the remains of a tree – split horrifically into two by an unknown force of some kind. Perfect altitude, he thought, as he shrugged out of his woollen shawl, and laid out on the ground, before sitting atop it.

No being – living or dead – currently made itself known to him in his spiritual vision, and neither did he see anyone from his vantage point of view as he overlooked the shore, listening to the violent waves crashing with an angered furor over the walls of the Kove nearby.

The sound soothed the swordsman, as he sat atop his shawl, looping his arms over his knees, and burying his face in the crook of his elbow, breathing deeply.

If he was to be honest with himself, there was no literal use of this trip. He had no new lead in tracking down the Red Dragon, and neither did the Special Forces commission this journey. He never even liked Outworld, to begin with. Yet he had strangely felt the need to travel its plains, its mountains and its deserts again. In fact, it was during his trek through the Kuatan Jungle that he thought that he ought to cross over to Seido, the Order-realm; perhaps training there, as Cage did briefly, could set his heart at ease.

He doubted it. But Kenshi had nothing else to go on either.

The cold bit his face, as he released a deep sigh. As he recollected the events of the recent past, he realised how much better off he was having Suchin not appear in his visions or dreams at all. Now, he could not stop thinking about her – crouching underneath a blooming tree, staring wistfully at the horizon in wait for him, and their son…

A bittersweet pang of emotion arrested his heart, and the swordsman emitted a shuddering groan, closing his eyes tightly shut as the vision danced in front of his eyes. He angrily shook his head, as if trying to shake off the images to no avail.

A moment later, he had opened his knapsack, and fished for his instrument – to clear his mind a bit.

After rummaging through its contents, he finally felt his fingers brush his bamboo flute. Kenshi retrieved it, feeling it down its length before he got in the position – holding it to his lips, brows furrowed beneath the blindfold in a bid to concentrate.

And from atop the cliff, he played a mournful song into the silent night.

Each note, each inflection of the tune dripped with a peculiar, sweet pain. Kenshi closed his eyes, giving himself to the music that echoed back to him – picturing his Suchin, imagining her dancing and smiling in lush green fields – as he'd left her in Lampang. Happy, content, free…

His sense of hearing closely took in the notes that echoed back to him – allowing him to form powerful images in his mind of the spanning landscape all around him – including the path he would take as dawn broke.

As much as he tried to exorcise his grief, Kenshi became vaguely aware that he was merely reshaping it. Changing its form, softening it, trying to make it more bearable, at least for a few more days. Yet his lachrymose song reached out to the tortured, cursed environment of the realm; as if, trying to wipe away its tears and soothe its agony, in lieu of easing his own soul…

By the time he ended the song in a final, haunting note of the flute, Kenshi was so immersed in his thoughts in a fleeting moment of peace, that he did not register that he was not alone anymore.

"We doubt entertaining the empty air was your aim, trespasser. You are not welcome here."

The unison of voices spoke lowly, threatening in its cool tone. Kenshi was startled at first – the feeling wearing off in favour of a quickening wave of annoyance.

He disguised both the reactions to perfection, beneath a carefully curated air of nonchalance. The swordsman merely cocked his head to one side, the corner of his lips pulling downward in a scowl, preferring to retort to the enforcer than answer him directly.

"Sneaking up to listen now, are you, construct?"

"We are not amused, Earthrealmer. Begone this instant! The Kahnum does not take favourably to your kind," warned Ermac, floating in front of the swordsman, who continued to remain seated, almost bored.

Kenshi lazily raised his head to regard the enforcer, lips curled into a sneer, slightly disgusted.

"Thousands of souls, but none your own… Pity you have to take orders from that deranged half-blood, Ermac."

"Our loyalty is bound to the realm, and it is the realm _alone_ that we serve, swordsman."

"It's Kenshi, _construct_."

Ermac arched an eyebrow, taking in Kenshi's brazen smirk – as if the threat of the enforcer meant nothing to him. As if they were known acquaintances, or even _friends_, instead of foes caught in the midst of an unwanted ceasefire of hostilities.

Given the lack of an attack from the Earthrealmer, the construct reserved his judgement. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest – deeming it beneath him to grace the foolishly frank remark with a reply.

Kenshi let out a breath from his nose, almost bemused himself. He was aware of the Ermac's abilities, given how he had sensed strange telepathic signals merged with his spirit energy. The enforcer deliberately launched his tirade, knowing the swordsman was caught elsewhere in his mind – not completely over the thought of Suchin yet…

He wouldn't let that transgression go so easily.

"Are you aware of how terribly you've aged?"

With a satisfied sneer, Kenshi witnessed the spark of anger crackling through the construct, as the multitudes of souls reacted within him. At once, he registered the slivers of rage, annoyance - even traces of good humour and hilarity rise within it. Yet these were all silenced with a roaring cry of anger from within; it was a call that he answered with unquestioning servitude.

His _master's_ call.

"Impudent fool! 'Age' matters not to us – we are not compromise-"

"Your lies are futile, Ermac. You are weaker than before. I see you _wilting_ under Kahn's onslaught as it ravages you internally." Kenshi scoffed. "Seems the Kahnum is not treating you well, either."

"We find it ironic to hear you say that. Especially given _your_ treatment of your ancestors… " Ermac remarked, hinting at the broken blade of Sento. "We are aware Earthrealm's souls are inherently worthless, but apparently even the progeny cannot care for its ancestors' souls. It would be amusing, if it weren't so disgraceful."

Kenshi gritted his jaw, enraged; his lower lip quivering with anger that he struggled to suppress. He found himself unable to answer, and that frustrated him even more.

The construct gave a low laugh, mocking the swordsman in a chorus of voices.

"That is a true pity, sightless one. We were hopeful you may eventually _learn_ a minute modicum of telekinesis from your elders…"

"The Sento merely strengthens my telekinesis, Ermac. These powers are part of my lineage. I wouldn't expect an assemblage of dark magik, subsisting on borrowed souls to _understand_ these bonds of blood."

"Yet your pathetic bonds do nothing for you. We have seen you harness your powers in kombat; and they are as weak as they are incorrectly applied. You are noth-"

Before even he could finish, Kenshi held up a hand, sending a blast of telekinetic energy centered at Ermac's chest. Encased in a blue glow, the projectile caught the construct unawares, as he was thrown a few metres back. Had it not been for his levitation, Ermac would have fallen off the cliff, and met grave injury if not certain death.

"Did I do _that_ correctly?"

* * *

_Unknown Location_

_Near Mount Godwin-Austen, _

_Sino-Pakistan border, the Western Himalayas_

_3.49 AM_

The crackle of thunder roared in the chasm of the mountains, rumbling in a terrifying sound that caused the young Takahashi to jolt awake from his nightmare.

Shaking, sweating and caught in the tangle of his meagre sheets, he gulped in air and clasped two hands over his mouth, trying to keep from screaming loud from sheer horror, and waking his fellow fighters.

'_Mother was there! And… him! What's goin-'_

'_**I will find you in time, little one… All in time…'**_

The dark, grovelling whisper surrounded him, bleeding in from the walls, the floor, the air - terror taking him in a vicious grip, squeezing the breath out of him as he struggled to find his voice. The darkness itself had become alive, taking a tangible form as the entity then laughed maliciously – the evil mirth raising the hair on the thirteen-year old's forearms.

'_I am Shirai Ryu, and I will not run from this!' _He immediately threw back the covers, and glared around him, searching fiercely, but untactfully for the enemy; while steeling his back and making fists of his clammy, shaky hands.

In the darkness of the sleeping quarters, he only heard his shallow breaths reverberating back to him, with an occasional, sleepy sigh or a rustle of sheets from his sleeping counterparts.

A firm hand reached up to him from the darkness, and stayed his fist with an unrelenting grip.

"When will you ever learn, boy?"

Hanzo's voice was cross as always, but deeper than usual, indicating he too had been woken up from sleep. Yet the low rumble was quiet enough to not be heard by anyone else.

"Master Hasa-"

A dark hand clasped his mouth, silencing the young Shirai Ryu warrior before he could complete his words. Hanzo stepped from the shadows, into the sole sliver of moonlight that illuminated the common sleeping area.

"You can fight when you are blind, even surrounded, Takeda… But you cannot fight when you do not understand your opponent," he growled, his tone belying a latent anger that the boy feared was aimed at him.

Sensing his tension, Hanzo withdrew his hands, and took a step back. Then without warning, he began to walk away, signalling to Takeda from behind his turned back.

"Follow me."

* * *

The Grandmaster led him through a network of passages, to an antechamber beside his own personal quarters. The area was cordoned off to the Shirai Ryu, and no one besides Hanzo Hasashi himself entered this part of the temple.

"I don't understand, Master Hasashi… What was-" Takeda stopped short, struggling to make sense of what was on his mind. Everyone has nightmares, he was not stupid enough to ignore that. Hearing that ominous voice, seeing that strange cavern… his mother's crouching form as she consoled his dying….

He immediately shook his head, and corrected himself before he could even think the paternal relation in his mind. 'Kenshi's … suicide?'

"I too heard, what you heard, Takeda. And _that_ was a voice I would never wish to hear again."

Takeda narrowed his eyes, as his lips parted in surprise, and thought. "But… how?"

The Grandmaster opted to ignore his pupil's question.

They took a sharp left, and immediately faced an old, wooden doorway, carved with ancient, calligraphic kanji that the young trainee had not yet learned how to read. Hanzo applied pressure with both hands, and with a slow creak, the door eventually opened inwards.

Hanzo wordlessly entered the chamber, lighting the torches against the walls, allowing it to be washed in a yellow light from the raw flames. It was a small room, locking away more of the dangerous, bladed weapons that could only be wielded by high-ranking Shirai Ryu, or the Grandmaster himself. Up along the wooden walls, variants of the kunai, and an assortment of knives and swords hung; of kinds that Takeda had never seen before, glittering molten from the light of the fire.

Hanzo merely continued to walk towards the center of the room, where moonlight from an open crevice above, fell squarely onto a raised platform – atop which a marble-white dagger floated.

The Kamidogu.

Hanzo nearly sighed with relief as he saw it untouched from its mount. This was a dangerous weapon, one whose exact nature was unknown to even him. Yet after spending eons in the Netherrealm, he had learned about its powerful ministrations – how deadly it could be should it ever fall into the hands of a Nether demon.

Hence, Raiden entrusting it into his care, despite the bad blood in between them.

Yet that voice he heard…

"Takeda!"

The young boy nearly jumped as the ninja sharply called his name. He had been fascinated by a unique, bladed form of the kunai that was on display. Small, sharp razor blades protruded from the length of its rope in a strange feat of engineering, and he wondered how one could wield it in a sparring match; Takeda had thus, forgotten that he was in the Grandmaster's presence, entirely.

With a rush, he briskly walked up to Hanzo, standing beside him with arms folded at his front. Hanzo nodded to him, and Takeda directed his gaze to the sight before his instructor.

The moment his azure orbs fixated on the Kamidogu, a searing wave of white-hot pain flared across the young teenager's temples, hitting him with the ferocity of a thousand of the same kunai he had been enamoured by, merely a few moments ago.

Instinctively, Takede clenched shut his eyes, as a gasp escaped his lips. The images from his nightmares began to flash before his eyes, each vanishing before he could properly register it. Holding his head in his hands, the boy took a step back. Though to his relief, he felt the pain abate as quickly as it had hit him, and his vision, blurred by tears, swim back into focus.

Hanzo immediately reached out, and held his shoulder in a reassuring manner. "Are you alright, young one?"

Takeda was mildly taken aback by Hasashi's soft tone, and an unintended fatherly disposition. He felt a rush of anger at the thought, and almost considered shrugging the hand off aggressively. But somehow, the boy felt drained of all energy, and he merely nodded his response, knowing it would just be easier that way, for both of them.

"J-just a headache…" Takeda wiped the tears away with the back of his hand, and exhaled through his nose.

Hanzo grunted his reply, accepting it. His eyes lingered on the young boy's form momentarily: the olive skin tone, the razor-sharp angles of his face, that firm jawline - barely into his teenages, and he had already become his father's spitting image.

"That voice…" he then began after a brief pause. He returned his gaze to the dagger, yet chose his words carefully. "Did it… _show_ you something?"

The young Shirai Ryu raised an eyebrow, and turned to face Hanzo Hasashi. "How did you-"

"Your answers are more important than mine, for now, Takeda."

The boy folded his arms over his chest, and turned his head sideways; a stance that conveyed his annoyance far loudly than the boy can ever dare to speak in, in front of the former spectre. Eyebrows furrowed, Takeda tried to vaguely discern what was worth revealing, and what was not…

"State _all_ of it."

Biting his lip in anger, Takeda puffed indignantly, before he recounted his vision to the grandmaster – taking special care to detail his father's sufferings, whilst skim over his mother's presence as he did so.

Hanzo frowned deeply toward the end of it – struggling to make a connection of the demonic voice, with this sad, almost wishful retelling of an abandoned boy as he saw his parents in a dream.

"It-it probably means nothing, Grandmaster…" Takeda shrugged at the end of it, though he struggled to make eye contact with the ninja.

After a long, awkward silence, Hanzo, exhaled lowly, uncrossing his arms and folding them behind his back. The prospect of Kenshi's demise was definitely alerting, but the Shirai Ryu somehow believed he would need to see it first, to truly believe it.

He wondered if he should tell him about his lineage, what his father imparted to him about his mind powers, and how this dream of his could perhaps be more important than he cares to admit.

But then, far more than the futility of the exercise, Hanzo reminded himself of how this was never his domain, to speak with. Hanzo Hasashi was not Takeda's father – and this was not his secret to share, no matter how the boy felt toward him.

Notwithstanding Kenshi's abandonment, Hanzo felt compelled to favour the boy's father. Takeda will learn of it, in his own time.

"You should not worry yourself; Kenshi is a formidable warrior, more than capable of-"

"I do not care, Master Hasashi," shot back Takeda icily, his voice trembling as he fixed bloodshot cerulean eyes accusatorily at him. "I could not care less about that bast-"

"Takeda!" scolded Hanzo, glaring at Takeda angrily, his eyes narrowed to murderous slits. "Kenshi is your father, and-"

"My _father_ is dead to me, Grandmaster! _Kenshi _died the moment he abandoned me here! Nothing can change that!" Takeda almost screamed, his fists shaking at his sides.

Hanzo merely arched an eyebrow, as he frowned at his impetuous student. As justifiable as Kenshi's cause was, he could still not find a single fault with Takeda's own anger. Damnation, evidently, manifested itself in various ways…

"Nothing but, perhaps, the man in question himself," he replied back to the boy, huffing exasperatedly. "Many of your own peers would _kill_ to find their name, their kin in this world, Takeda. You cannot forsake your blood with a mere declaration..."

Takeda bowed his head and closed his eyes, his rage cooling to a low simmer – more melancholic than breeding from fury. "I _am_ the forsaken one, Grandmaster. Just… please don't mention him to me again…"

Hanzo paused, before ending the conversation finally.

"Agreed."

* * *

_Outworld_

The duo's fight had begun from a mindless spar to an enraged battle. Utilising all tricks, techniques and strategies at their disposal, Kenshi and Ermac fought viciously through the darkest hours of Outworld's black midnight – each seeking to severely punish the other, for their own convoluted conceptions of trespass. One, merely performing his duty to the realm, the other angered by the disturbance caused by the former.

Kenshi manipulated the Sento as easily as if it were a mere extended limb, crimson apparitions of his ancestors appearing to deliver the blows he orchestrated – while Ermac dispensed blows by the multitudes of his souls, as if his hands had an independent volition of their own.

The thousands that Ermac had prided himself on, had indeed met their match – in similar numbers.

Yet perhaps the greater battlefield went on unseen from atop that ill-fated cliff. It did not take place within the physicality of the two beings; it was fought in their minds.

Ermac had not expected the dualist approach; as much as he loathed to admit, it was evident that the swordsman's telepathy was perhaps far acutely developed than his telekinesis. What he had once vaguely felt as a mild sense of paranoia, of being watched during the Outworldian invasion of Earthrealm, was now as if a dark specter threatened to take over his mind.

Long before he absorbed Shao Kahn, Ermac would have found himself a battleground in between the contesting emotions. All he felt now, was either relentless fury or unbound hunger that drowned out every other voice or affect. He thought the luxury of experiencing emotions beyond this binary, was perhaps long-lost to him.

Yet with every minute that passed, he felt compelled to reject the Kahn's hold over him.

With the loss of his spirit energy on this mindless fight, Ermac felt the loss of his consciousness as a being of kombat. Kenshi's powers weakened the singular, uncompromising control of Shao Kahn over the enforcer's mind, as it blocked the thoughts of his remaining souls. As vague as it was, it almost felt to him as if the swordsman was perhaps, fighting a battle to somehow _liberate_ him – even though the notion itself made no sense to Ermac.

However, he was still not going to admit this defeat so easily.

"You will die for your insolence, swordsman!"

"As will you, for _yours_!"

The blade of the katana sliced through the construct's muscles, grazing by his arms, and waist, but not stabbing entirely through. Ermac remained undeterred; pain was as foreign to him, as it was useless. Being the vessel that he was, he barely felt it – it was the wastage of his spirit energy that concerned him.

With a frustrated roar, Ermac wrenched the Sento from Kenshi's hands telepathically, levitating it so that it was far beyond, and above his reach.

Ermac was not aware of what exactly transpired; yet immediately after that act, the construct's entire being was wracked with a crippling pain. As if a long-forgotten entity was tearing and clawing its way out from within the center of his chest. He raised a gloved hand to touch the center of his chest: he felt as if his sternum would burst through from within, his bones shrieking and shattering from some hidden psychosomatic force he could not detect, nor defeat.

His hands touched a smooth torso; there was nothing that could account for the pain.

Ermac's hold on the Sento disappeared, as the enforcer howled in excruciating agony.

The dark skies and many moons of Outworld bled out from his vision, slowly replaced by an ecru roof with royal blue and gold embellishment – all decorating the center that was the Seal of Edenia….

"Edenia…"

* * *

_More than ten thousand years ago,_

_Edenia_

"Jerrod, quiet now! You'll wake the child!" playfully scolded queen Sindel, trying and failing to maintain a stern visage. Clad in white, silk robes, she remained seated on the bed, absolutely radiant as she blushed, enhancing her beauty. The Edenian simply oozed grace and warmth, and few could have guessed she had given birth merely hours ago.

"Please, let me see it!"

In their personal quarters, King Jerrod bothered with no pretenses, no airs of authority. As statesman-like and gracious as he had been to all subjects of his kingdom at the birth of his daughter, he knew he could not maintain that formality within the bedchamber, alone with his beloved.

Jerrod let out a hearty chuckle, holding the rustling package away from Sindel's outstretched hand, as he got off the bed and walked to a small, golden crib, only a few feet from their own bed.

He smiled in wonder at his little miracle; the child slept peacefully, unaware of their parents' commotion. He held out a gloved hand, and lovingly stroked the curve of a chubby, rosy cheek. _'My daughter…' _he wondered, awe-struck once more by the sheer simplicity of the overwhelming love he felt in his heart.

"She will grow up to be beautiful, and strong, like her mother…" Jerrod murmured thoughtfully.

"And wise, and just – like her father," Sindel completed from her end.

Raising his neck, he regarded Sindel once more – his kind eyes reflecting a gratitude so profound, he had no words to express it otherwise. Sindel smiled back her response, and sighed contently.

In a single move, he rose from his position and returned to his seat beside his wife, grasping her hand gently, before bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly. Sindel lowered her eyes, glancing up at him from underneath her eyelashes. With a sombre expression, he placed the package in her hands then, grasping them firmly with his own two as a signature of his trust.

Sindel quizzically regarded the package – revealing away the silk wrapping before gasping in awe. The circle of gold promptly slipped from her fingers and landed in her lap as she glanced at her husband, absolutely shocked.

It was the Royal Edenian Seal, a solid-gold emblem that signified eternal authority over the territory of Edenia – one that transcended the bounds of time, and mortality.

"Jerrod! I cannot accept this-"

"Hush, my love," Jerrod whispered, placing a finger at Sindel's lips to silence her. "You are not merely bound to Edenia now – you are destined to rule it long after I am gone-"

"Do not speak in such way-"

"For now, forever; always and beyond. This would be nothing but a mere mound of gold, but for the promise it carries… Promise me, that you and young Kitana, will never bow down to any tyrant…"

He softly combed a stray lock of white hair behind her ear, gazing earnestly, pleadingly into her eyes. Sindel was aware of the troubles of the realm, the mounting attacks of the Outworldian tyrant now draining their defence resources, jeaopardising the security of the realm. This was a promise of accession; that she would take up and rule in his stead, while he left them to fight Shao Kahn's forces.

Yet she could not fight the unexpected tears that sprang up to her eyes. Jerrod kissed her forehead, and cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"This, is the only way I can protect you and our child…"

Edenia's fate was now tied to her, and their daughter. It was a call she could simply not refuse.

"I promise, my King…"

* * *

The fleeting memory paralysed Ermac; he barely registered Kahn's fading screams as Jerrod's soul defeated him, drowning out his malice and consolidated its hold on his being; however temporary the respite was.

Kenshi stood motionless, the tails of his blindfold fluttering with the direction of the now howling winds. He had sensed a change in Ermac's very constitution, akin to an internal breakthrough - and promptly exited his mind. And now, since the past few moments, all he could witness, was an eerie calm in the eye of the storm within the construct's being – all seemed to be strangely at peace, for now.

It deeply unsettled the telepath, yet he preferred to remain silent to this… _transition_.

With the fallen King Jerrod's consciousness, combined with his own powers, Ermac found himself sympathising with the swordsman's troubles. They were not merely at the same wavelength, despite the millennias that separated them; they were both, in fact, witnesses to the heartbreaks of fatherhood, of being defeated, and deprived of themselves…

"You are wrong, swordsman. We do understand the 'bonds of blood' that you spoke about earlier…" finally spoke Ermac, the unison of his voices shrouded in a hushed, melancholic tone.

Kenshi's eyes widened from underneath his blindfold. He suddenly realised he now held the audience of an entirely different company. This was not Ermac, the Kahnum's enforcer - a heartless, brutal murderer…

"We are aware of what it means – to be estranged from your loved ones, swordsman."

If he chose to remain silent before, Kenshi was rendered simply speechless now. Lips barely parted in surprise, he found himself too stunned to reply – vaguely registering in some part of his mind, that this is what the victims of his telepathy must feel like.

Ermac then, levitated back to the ground. He turned on his heel, and walked to the edge of the cliff, his posture unusually erect, hands folded behind him – wistful emerald eyes fixed at some undefined point at the horizon – as if too engrossed in his own thoughts to expand any further.

A moment later, the swordsman regained his composure, clearing his throat loudly. He then beckoned the katana back to its sheath telekinetically, and walked up to Ermac, who did not turn back to acknowledge.

"Should I take that as an apology then, enforcer?" he prodded cautiously, folding his arms over his chest.

A small silence fell in between the two, as Kenshi mentally debated whether he ought to attempt delving into the construct's mind and seek answers, or should he leave him be. Finally deciding on the latter, he nodded to himself, and turned his head to regard the enforcer again.

"Cross over to the Kove, and find your way across Drylands, to the Lake of the Elders. A vessel departs every eve for the village of Makebe. The portal to Seido falls in the midst of the sea-journey…" he paused briefly, before he turned his gaze, fixing them on the silent swordsman.

"We pray you find some modicum of peace, even if we cannot."

Kenshi bowed to the enforcer, who in turn accepted his act. Then, without caution, Kenshi walked closer, and placed a gloved hand on his shoulder, as one would with a fellow soldier.

"You will be unbound one day, my friend. Farewell."

* * *

So... this marks the end of the third arc! FINALLY! XD

I think this chapter has the longest list of cameos and character appearances: Kenshi, Ermac, Takeda, Hanzo, Sindel, Jerrod, Kitana... Shao Kahn and Raiden too if you look too closely :P But hopefully, I've done justice to 'em here ..

So again, just some references/tidbits just for fun :P, though this update didn't require too many to begin with :P

**"Did I do that correctly?"/"You will be unbound!":** Interestingly enough, these are very specific dialogues that Kenshi says in MKX to Ermac during the fights, usually after throws, or after a certain combo in the Kenjutsu variation. A throwback to the first timeline, and pretty nifty imo ^.^

**Ermac's MK9 ending:** partly inspired the last half of this chapter. As I wrote on Tumblr, the second timeline Ermac is too weak to develop a unified personality of his own - thus most of the time, he relies on certain dominant souls taking charge of him. In one of the intros in MKX, Kenshi specifies "one of your souls fights for dominance" - its unclear who this is, but I think that's probably Shao Kahn. But despite the non-canonicity of Ermac's MK9 ending, I thought it'd make sense to have Jerrod and Kahn fight for dominance.. And as it is, Jerrod understands the 'bonds of blood' far, far better than Kahn, hence the ending..

(Also, had no idea how utterly tragic Jerrod/Sindel are... *cries*)

**Hanzo's weapon-room:** Indeed, Takeda was observing the traditional bladed 'whips' he later grows up to use :P

**Blood demon:** See the first chap of this arc, but you know who he is :P

**Outworld areas:** The Sea of Blood, the Kove, the Drylands, Makebe, Lake of the Elders, etc - I know I took liberty with most of them.. But hey, I suck at navigating and map-reading, so bear with me xD The last few locations (and the Portal falling in the midst of the sea journey) were taken from an Outworld "Map" I found on MK Wiki - It's either from Deception, or the Deadly Alliance - so yeah :P

(I honestly cant remember anymore! X_X)

Now that this is done... I think I'll be taking a bit of a break now.. :) I have at least 2-3 more arcs planned in my mind, but as I said before, real life is becoming too hectic and I don't want to keep this hanging in the middle anymore.. Just give me a month or two - I'll probably be back by mid-December, or so. Until then - a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has read and reviewed this so far! Honestly, you guys don't what this means to me! :'D Have a great time, guys - and do write to me and let me know what you think of this! :'D Adios!


	13. Of a Father's Folly I

**HELLO EVERYONE! :'D**

I'm finally back with a fresh new arc :D Have plenty of free time on my hands so I suspect I can get back to finishing this fic soon :)

There have been several reviews and follows and favourites to this recently - thank you all so very much for your constant support and love! :'D

Here's a reply to my AMAZING reviewers :)

**PunkRoseBlitz** \- Oh I certainly did take my time completing this chapter! xD I'm glad you enjoyed Kitana's cameo - I'd love to write a Shaolin-related fic someday, with Kitana and Liu Kang starring of course :3 Thanks for the review! :)

**BrutusSilentium** \- Thanks so much, my friend! :D

**imgood12** \- Hello! :D Woah, that must have been something, reading this all in a single sitting :D But thank you so very much for your kind words, they truly mean so much to me.. I love these kids, man XD Hope you enjoy the upcoming arcs too :)

**Hell-On-Training-Wheels** \- OMG seriously?! (And please, never, EVER apologise for late reviews, bud.. I totally understand! *HUGS*)Gurl, you have me on the floor blushing at those words (i really need a Tumblr GIF to express how I feel atm XD).. Ermac is one of the biggest challenges to write but I've come to love the little lug xD Thanks soo much for your heart-warming words, I feel this update's a little slow, but hopefully you'd might enjoy this too! Thanks once more helly 3

**Poe's Daughter** \- Thanks so much for the feedback, and dont worry about delays LMAO I'm often so late at reviewing myself! X_X I actually aimed at the Sindel/Jerrod moment to be just a touch of what went on in their lives.. Somehow imo these understatements can speak volumes, say more with less - and following Hemingway, I aspire to write in a way that conveys such sentiments.. There's still a helluva long way to go, but your review made my day, buddy! 3 And I think you will enjoy this arc a lot, because Hanzo knows more about fatherhood, and I aim to explore him in detail in the coming 2-3 chapters :) Hope you enjoy this update 3

**iceangelmkx** \- I'm so glad you liked this! xD Writing Ermac and Kenshi totally reminds me of _Condolences_, but I love the duo with all their little idiosyncracies and issues xD And you are right, that really is the gist of it. As it happens, not everything in life can be white/black, right and wrong... Unfortunately our faves are just caught in the midst of it :/ Hopefully you'll like this update :)

**RoseScytheElysium** \- Thank you sooo much for the words! 3

**Razer Athane** \- Hello there! :) I understand why that can be confusing, I mixed in a lot of things, and there was a lot of original content too. Basically, it's a rendition of how I think the Sento "broke" - Kenshi and Mavado face off, but Mavado defeats Kenshi and leaves him to die. In a bid to secure the Sento, Kenshi drags himself to where he first found the katana, and commits suicide to salvage some honour. The Sento was never used to spill the blood of Takahashi's, so it splinters, and Raiden fixes it in the Jinsei. Now we see Kenshi's powers have changed, become more blunt and the ancestral whisperings have reduced somewhat. But this new arc is less action-based, I'll try to write clearer now... Thanks so much for the review anyway! 3

Before we start - with this arc, I honestly want to explore Hanzo more. He may seem like the quiet char playing along, but he has a strong view on what Takeda went through, and his own feelings for the child. On the other hand, you'll see a bit more of my OC, the Captain - whose name has been changed to Jehan Ara (sort of a more indigenous name to the region, and sounds nice too :3 means 'adornment of the world'). After Kenshi took off from the Shirai Ryu, she would visit Takeda whenever possible for her, and an unlikely friendship/mentorship developed there. Hopefully, these two can flesh out Takeda in such formative years, and we can see the future reconciliation in time.

Having said that - just a short disclaimer and then, enjoy this update! :D

**Disclaimer - I own nobody and no one, except for my OC, and some of the ideas discussed.**

* * *

_**THE TAKAHASHI FAMILY SAGA**_

_**OF A FATHER'S FOLLY **_

_**I**_

* * *

_Unknown Location_

_Near Mount Godwin-Austen, _

_Sino-Pakistan Border, the Western Himalayas._

**_Fall, 2007_**

"Still with the blue beret? I seriously think maroon one looked much better…"

The question shook the Captain out of her reverie. Seated across the footsteps of the Shirai Ryu temple, Takeda shared a conversation with another fellow survivor, who had aided his escape to this part of the world eight years ago. Lieutenant General Akram and Hasashi were discussing the destruction of the temple inside the main courtyard, leaving the two subordinates to catch-up outside.

The recent calamitous events fell heavily on Jehan's conscience. Takeda's act of building a memorial for the Shirai Ryu reminded her of the way she too buried –

'_No. Not now.'_ The Captain berated herself mentally, tearing her eyes from her gloved hands, and fixing them at the scenery around them.

Eight years. Eight years had gone by since the little boy before her, now growing far too quickly, had come to make home in this part of the world. These past eight years had been filled with visits, small gifts and conversations about everything and nothing – and somehow, the duo had cemented an unlikely, platonic friendship, despite her own patronising ways, and the circumstances that surrounded them.

So much had changed, now… Eyes cast downward, the female soldier rummaged her front pocket, fishing out and lighting a slender cigarette. Blowing smoke into the cold mountain air, she felt the nicotine kick in and relax her; secretly glad she didn't change her UN-issued fatigues before coming to visit.

"No one's uniform boasts their rank when they're a peacekeeper, kid. In a strange land, and amongst other strangers, your only identity is the flag at your sleeve, and over your chest."

Jehan Ara flicked at the cig, holding it in between her index and middle finger, eyes fixated again at the snowy, jutting peaks surrounding them. Takeda despised the smoke, but had long learned to ignore it while the Captain unwound in her own, unconventional way.

"At least you have a flag, a country – a people, to whom you belong, Captain," began Takeda, his voice hoarse, belying a profound, unspoken grief. He waved around at the quiet environment around them, which mirrored its own kind of desolation. "I have nothing left now."

She looked him over, and briefly wondered at how much he had grown recently. Lanky, and well on his way of crossing six feet, evidently strong – eyes the azure hue of a stormy sea. Though he was dressed in his clan's robes, the single the bandanna across his forehead with its tails fluttering behind him, cemented his heritage, no matter how much Takeda would denounce it.

The spitting image of his father - and the notion immediately brought with it a sense of trepidation that left Jehan with an alien sense of anxiety. She shook her head, reminding herself that there was yet still time before she reached her deployment point - no need to go cross that bridge for now.

"Do you, now?" she quizzed, the orange glow of her cigarette casting shadows over her eyes. She pointed to her uniform carelessly, continuing in a tired voice: "This crescent and star; these laurels at my collar, the name I carry – these define me. The mark of the scorpion, the ranks you hold and the name you carry, define you – Takahashi Takeda." Turning away, she leaned back and continued nonchalant –

"It's easier to be a stranger, kid; even to your own people. You don't have to answer to anyone."

Takeda nodded with a frown, and crossed his legs as they sat atop the temple's stairs. He let out a deep sigh, one filled with remorse than exhaustion.

"Jehan, what is it like in the army, and the Peacekeepers Corps? Is it any easier than…" Takeda stopped short before his voice broke. Images of his mentors, and peers, Fox – all replayed relentlessly in his mind – and an incoming of tears he held back defiantly.

The mindless, senseless loss of the teenager's sole family tore at him with a crippling vengeance of its own. The sudden pause was not lost on Ara, who gritted her jaw and kept her own thoughts at bay.

"No, Takeda…" replied the Captain, a wistful, pained expression haunting her forlorn face. "Nothing's easy in our line of work. Torture, disease, innocents slaughtered, shaking hands with the devil, burying your own dead –" Her voice trembled with anger, lip curled in disgust.

"All because some goddamn pencil-pusher on the other side of the planet, is worried about 'impartiality'."

After a brief pause, one that was only filled with the howling of mountain winds, she continued in a tone devoid of any emotion, or hope: "You're freer than I can ever be, as you are this moment. Defending the world on your own terms…" Jehan cynically shook her head.

"What a fantasy, kid. I'd kill to be in your shoes right now."

A small silence fell in between them, hanging like a curtain, shrouding one's thoughts as they remained absorbed each in their own worlds.

"I know what you mean, Captain…" began Takeda after several long moments. "I understand why Master Hasashi trains us to fight, and what is at stake – even if I want nothing from Earthrealm. Someone has to do it, and we should because we _can_… But I can't stop wondering…"

"What?"

"Is surviving the only thing we're meant for? Is it always going to be like this – one war to another? I mean, I enjoy sparring… I love to train, and feel the adrenaline rush from fighting, the taste of victory… But there's also loss… I want to know the world more than just the battlefield, Captain…"

The Captain merely raised an eyebrow, threw a wayward glance, and smirked.

"So the typical 'I-wanna-live-and-not-just-survive' cliché, eh?"

"No!" responded Takeda, sharply – annoyed, as if pricked with a thorn. The agitated Shirai Ryu paused hesitatingly – and gesticulated with jerky hands, as if struggling to put his thoughts into words.

"I… I just don't want to go like Fox. And… I don't want to become, like _him _either…"

The bitter, venomous tone at the end made it all too easy for the Captain to surmise who the latter was.

"You mean your father—"

"Don't! He is _not_ my father!"

Takeda's passionate exclamation was met with a bored roll of eyes from the Captain, who had by now finished her cigarette – crushing its butt with the heel of her boot. But playing in her mind were the haunting words of Takahashi Kenshi, from the rickety train ride in the searing heat, what seemed like a lifetime ago -

'_We're all nothing, but you don't have to be; do not forsake your choice…' _

"Your _father _taught me one thing, Takeda," she began forcedly, ignoring the irritated growl from the angsty young fighter at the mention of the blind swordsman. "We may be nothing, but we still have a choice, to the very end. To make our survival count. There were plenty far better than us – better trained, better skilled… better _people_; who deserve to be alive. All that separates us from them, is the paltry, insignificant breath in our lungs. Even if it is to honour them, our survival can become our fulfillment even within this life. The choice is yours…"

Takeda sighed, as he leaned forward, folding his arms over his knees, and placing his chin atop it, thoughtfully.

"Did he really say that?" he asked quietly, the scowl on his face easing to a lachrymose expression. "Master Hasashi claims he was the wise man, who helped redeem him long ago… But all I hear are fables of some mystical-warrior… not the sorry excuse of a man who abandoned his only child when the going got rough… _and_ to a hell-wraith, to boot."

"The same whom you revere now with all your heart, chump," Jehan chuckled, as she leaned forward and ruffled Takeda's hair. He was as groaned, irritated by the act, as he had been when his mother teased him, as a child.

"Kenshi has great foresight, for a blind man, Takeda. I know it's hard – but…" she paused, now struggling to voice her own thoughts.

"Just - don't burn all your bridges at this point. You'll learn in time…"

Takeda let out a heartless bark of a laugh, and shook his head at the absurdity of the thought. The Captain merely shrugged and let the subject drop. Speaking of Kenshi was throwing her completely off-guard, messing with her cold instincts, worrying her far beyond than what was necessary.

It was not that Jehan had never killed before, nor that this would be her first rescue mission – but for the first time, she saw a loved one connected directly to her target. This kid's _father_ was her target. While she had respect, or even sympathy for the older Takahashi, it was this special bond she shared with his son that was getting in her way presently.

At the back of her mind, she knew the anxiety was inexcusable, and this was a self-created _weakness_ than a technical fault to be corrected. But after several long years of remaining as isolated as she was, of clamping down on simplistic emotions as she was trained to do, this unfounded _fear_ of what was to come, rendered her extremely uncomfortable.

But – she had her orders.

And in that moment, the Captain silently prayed that the boy's hatred for his father be a shield against any future aggrievements, lest she fails.

It almost seemed ironic to the hardened soldier. Though she had carried the graves of countless comrades, partners, soldiers and innocents – Kenshi's pine box would bring with it a pain that was simultaneously, foreign and convoluted, given they had nothing in between them but a few words. All because of an unnamed, protective bond she shared with Takeda.

She just hoped that it wouldn't be her charged with the duty of securing the swordsman's dead body.

"So… your grandmaster Hasashi… he's seen some weird things, huh?"

"Oh, don't get me started…" breathed Takeda with a small laugh, as the duo fell into a comfortable conversation – filled with tales of gore and grit, valour and victory – the boy's eyes glittering as if freed from his troubles, and the rare, quiet smile fixated on the _'Captain'_ Jehan Ara's features.

Soon, the surviving Shirai Ryu duo would depart for somewhere Far East – the decision was up to Hasashi. And Ara doubted she would ever see the young boy again – perhaps, their path would cross.

She was never one to show emotion, and especially hastened goodbyes. This night was thus, an appropriate farewell; before the beleaguered, covert _SHAHEEN 09_ went out to locate, and capture Takahashi Kenshi – unbeknownst to the former-spectre, Hanzo, nor his apprentice.

* * *

Takeda stared deep into the burning flames, the crackling of the fire ominous against the peaceful sounds of the day breaking into night. The teenager's mouth was set into a grim line, his cerulean eyes quiet yet reflective of his own, silenced wrath. Countless memories played in his mind, each an effervescent image that vanished, only to be replaced by another one – of forgotten smiles and stifled laughter, the painful aches from training too long, all disappearing in a fit of childish giggles he had shared with his fellow trainees.

The Shirai Ryu, in all its entirety and conceptions – had been his home.

Even as the temple and its vast courtyards burned, to remove any evidence of its existence, it had been home. Even as its residents lay cold, unmoving beneath the earth, buried by his own hand, it had been home.

His friends, his teachers – caregivers, in a sense. Protectors, in an entirely another fashion.

The notion brought with it involuntary tears, as his mind reeled back to his playful defeat to Fox, before the latter's final stand, possessed by the blood demon – and his own first one, ironically.

But now, standing at the foot of his clan's roaring pyre, Takeda drank the tears that welled in his eyes; they always said tears hurt the dead. Even _he_ had said that – but Takeda found it hard to challenge his father's words at that point in time; accepting it provided a miniscule modicum of comfort of being useful, even in death.

He always tried hard to steer clear of the memories – as it was, there wasn't a single sliver of thought that didn't bring with it torrents of agony and regret; but he had survived. For whatever unfathomable reason, he stood outside the blazing inferno that was the remains of the Shirai Ryu – cremating his home, instead of burning in its place. The young fighter did not dwell much on his chance at life, nor pondered about what was destined for him ahead.

All he knew, was that with the aid of Grandmaster Hasashi, he would learn to bear the curse of his survival. Eventually, but decidedly so.

He glanced toward his teacher, and for a moment, forgot his own grief. Shoulders held back, Hasashi stood ramrod straight, gazing into the fire as shadows danced along his hollowed features. His eyes, once stern and harsh, or soulless white when consumed by the demon, were now hopelessly empty, unfocused, lost in another century. Every crevice of the older man's face was etched with a silent agony that ran too deep for words or confessions. The defiant stance, the desolate eyes – Takeda could not help but be floored by the sheer humanity of the man before him, whom he had come to regard more deeply than his own father. And the single realisation wounded him, as he dwelled on his sensei:

That this was not the first time Hanzo had stood before the ashes of his dying world.

'_How cruel are the gods – to test a man, so many times… First his family and clan by the Lin Kuei; and now again…'_

"This fire burns, Takeda – to cleanse us. To give dawn to a new beginning…"

Hanzo spoke quietly, his deep voice steady – but it lacked the resonance of his own convictions. Takeda dared to think he sounded defeated.

"Nothing born of fire ever lasts, Grandmaster. It is always put out…" Takeda responded, his own voice tired as he continued looking toward the towering flames. "And we'll never get our clan back…"

"I was not talking about the clan; but you, young one."

Astonished, the student whipped his face sharply to the side, tendrils of wayward hair teasing his eyes, mouth set in a frown. Hanzo remained unmoved, staring at the depth of the inferno before them.

"You have suffered. And once again you stand by me…"

"A survivor, right?"

"Indeed," answered Hanzo gravely, as he nodded slowly to himself.

"Memorise these flames, these embers… our ashes, Takeda. Carve them into the deepest corners of your mind – so when you train to be Chujin, you know what terrible fate you are fighting to prevent."

The young Takahashi mulled over the statement, all his thoughts and convictions aligning with the ninja's words, in a perfect circle that left no room for error, nor doubt.

"I will, Master Hasashi."

* * *

_**Weeks later…**_

"_I would hate baby-sitting beyond Bon Festival,  
The snow begins to fall, and the baby cries…"_

He was not running anymore.

Clutching a side, limping across the vast expanse of woods, Takahashi Kenshi took his time, breathing deeply, aware of his physical weaknesses as he traversed the wide foliage. Out of habit, he counted every step, memorised everything – even though he had known the route by heart, and walked on it a million times in his dreams.

Flowing from his lips in a breathy hum, out of his tired mind's own accord, was a once-forgotten lullaby; one the caretakers of his childhood orphanage had reserved purely for the lowest of children under their care. How 'low' was defined in this context was absolutely beyond him; but Kenshi was aware that his nameless birth and consequent abandonment, certainly had earned him that very status, and no favours from the operators of the place.

It was a catchy tune, he'd give it that.

The woods were less thick than before, he mused inwardly. A faint stench of burnt wood hung in the air – perhaps this area too suffered forest fires. Kenshi put the thought aside and trudged along, keeping in mind a bad leg, afflicted with a prior injury.

A part of him still feared he should still hurry. That somehow, time was running out; that this visit was no more different than the last time he had visited the area – that it was not his, but his son's life that was in grave danger. That the Red Dragon were still —

A low, bitter laugh escaped the swordsman's parched throat. What a stroke of blind luck; maybe the gods did spare a minute or two of their time to grant him such fortune.

And Goro was, after all, such a true prince.

"_How can I be happy even when Bon Festival is here?  
I don't have nice clothes or a sash to wear."_

Kenshi had no modicum of idea how long he had remained in captivity, or how long the brutality lasted. Pierced with chalices, broken bones – his wounds were barely allowed time to heal, before becoming the subject of blunt force again.

All for the same crime – blaspheming, betraying, and defecting from Lord Daegon, all punishable by various forms of torture, and eventually death.

Kenshi sighed deeply.

And then, there had been the hunger.

Instinctively, a protective hand went up to his neck, patting down bony shoulders, before he checked his torso. Indeed, those prolonged periods of starvation had left a mark - the jutting ribs, protruding bones from what had previously been well-toned, solid muscle stood a testament to that.

"_This child continues to cry and is mean to me,  
Every day I grow thinner…"_

Oh, he was no stranger to hunger – but before his 'capture', he had forgotten about that specific relic from his past. The 'reformatory punishment' that was handed out to him for misbehaving, and on days at end. An ancient, bitter hostility rose within Kenshi at the thought, but he clamped down on it.

Living a fundamentally diseased, unwanted existence as his was, back in an old Japanese orphanage where none wanted nor cared for him, he had found hunger to be a constant companion – one whose presence had brought out the absolute worst in him.

Thus giving premise to the notion of an inherent evilness – as if the name Kazimir was not indication enough. Presently, Kenshi shook his head at the incredulity of it; wondering what unfound strength had made him suffer through all that senselessness as a child, and become what he was today.

Takeda would not have been treated like that.

A hint of a smile graced his weathered face, a cool tear formed behind the blindfold at the thought of his son. The Shirai Ryu fighters at the compound seemed well-fed, though capable of kombat. And then there was Hasashi Hanzo – the man struggling to absolve himself of the guilt of his past.

No, Hanzo was different. Hanzo would have taken care of Takeda far better than the swordsman, certainly. There were so many years in between them now, he still had to cover so much.

Takeda. If his son was treated well, then why was this haunting melody written in his name? Why did _'Takeda's lullaby'_ bring with it memories of painful pangs of hunger, biting wood, scratching at skin – instead of the feel of his son's head cradled against his chest…

His mind reeled back to the perpetrators of their separation. Daegon, now, knew better than to mess with him again. Even if Suchin's murder remained yet to be avenged – Kenshi knew he had struck a blow that would severely debilitate the Red Dragon, and bring their vile operations to a screeching halt. But as it stood – Daegon, and Mavado had managed to evade him yet again.

No matter. Given some rest and sustenance, he would be ready for them. More than ever, because now, he was not alone.

Takeda would be sixteen by now, having trained under the tutelage of the greatest ninja in the realm for half his life. It was time he knew the truth about everything – before they went down to hunt the Red Dragon dogs that had hurt them so.

"_I would quickly quit here and go back  
To my parents' home over there,  
To my parents' home over there…"_

He had arrived -

At the base of a mass grave-site, and the very ashes of where his son's only sanctuary had once stood.

* * *

Dang, what is the Captain upto? And how did Kenshi escape the Red Dragon (end of MKX comics?!) Had to introduce/incorporate some conflict to spice up this arc :P

**REFERENCES **(in no order cuz I'm a lazy ass :P)

**"Takeda's Lullaby" -** a very, very last minute inclusion. This is the actual name of a Japanese children's lullaby, used specifically by the ostracised _burakumin_ community. Because the jobs of these people were considered lowly, or close to death (such as undertakers, butchers, etc) they were heavily discriminated against prior. Thanks to Wiki, I've used the actual translation of the lullaby, due to it's haunting nature, and it somehow fit Kenshi at this point.

**"SHAHEEN 09"** \- This literally took me THE LONGEST TIME TO RESEARCH.

Basically, the word "Shaheen" is a Persian/Indian/Pakistani/Afghani word that may or may not be used in Central Asian countries too. A very ancient word, that is historically Persian, but is accounted for even in the most ancient Arabic texts too (reveals the beauty and fluidity of language as it is). The actual meaning of the word is **'Falcon'/'Royal Falcon'/'Falcon from the Mountain'** etc.

But what it's used in my story, is that it's a regional, multi-country organisation (tentative, for now), where the most trained/talented individuals from South, West and Central Asian (?) countries work in coordination to keep the region safe and free from influence of Red/Black Dragon type criminal organisations, and protect these areas from Outworld invasions, so on. Recognised member of the OIA. And '09' is Ara's code-number. (The inspiration from this was of course, FOXHOUND from the MGS series, but a lot more conventional than that :P)

The reason why most of this information is tentative is because they are subject to change as my research proceeds. But so far, I can convey a general idea that this is a regional organisation basically wanting to limit Outworld attacks and criminal influence.

**"Blue beret/Maroon beret" - **The UN peacekeepers normally wear combat fatigues, boots with light blue berets, irrespective of where they are from, or their rank - that's their standard uniform. An individual peacekeeper's country flag is placed at the side of the sleeve, even though they are officially part of the UN. The maroon beret, alternatively, is reserved for most countries' armies Special Forces units. I'm not sure, but I assume it'd be the case here too.

Which leads to...

**UN Peacekeepers - Who are these anyway? - **Under Chapters 6 and 7 of the UN Charter, there is a scope of involvement into other countries by organisations like the UN, if they are facing crises/war time situations/ internal conflict, etc. - to help them out, or to restore regional peace. While the UN doesn't have a 'standing army' itself, it has peacekeeping 'volunteers' - where basically, countries send their regiments/soldiers as 'volunteers' to the UN to act on their behalf. A peacekeeping mission, despite being the subject of intense controversy and debate, is usually authorised in afflicted countries, and these forces are then deployed to bring the situation back to normalcy. (WHICH CAN PROVE VERY CONTROVERSIAL).

Historically, heavily-populated South Asian countries such as India, Bangladesh and Pakistan lead the way in sending the maximum number of peacekeeping forces - for them, it's a way to ensure steady income for much of their people. Bangladesh even sends female police forces as peacekeepers, which is amazing in itself. However, the peacekeeping 'agenda' is usually set forth by the Security Council (AGAIN, HIGHLY POLITICAL AND CONTROVERSIAL).

**... "shaking hands with the devil" ... "impartiality"** (when Ara recounted her peacekeeping activities to Takeda) - a direct reference to General Romeo Dallaire - Canadian commander of the UN mission to Rwanda (UNAMIR) before and during the genocide in 1994. Itching, vying and begging to take action against the genocidaires, only to be stopped by his authorities because that would breach "impartiality." The results were catastrophic, to say the least, and still - Dallaire managed to save thousands acting outside the orders of the UN, and with literally zero resources or tactical support. There's a movie by the name "Shake hands with the Devil" illustrating just that - for anyone interested..

(As an IR graduate, these areas are literally my favourite to read and write about, hence the incorporation of peacekeeping into this fic )..

That's all I can think of for now :P Hope you all enjoyed the update, and apologies for inundating you with such details X_X Anyhow, do let me know what you think of this update - what can improve and what was okay.. Enjoy guys! :)


	14. Of a Father's Folly II

Hello, everyone! Hope all's well here! :)

Again, back with another update... This was sitting on my PC for a while, and I decided to cut some ideas down, leaving them to be explored later because frankly this update was just running a little too long..

So here, we see lots of Hanzo :P In all honesty, he's having the hardest time of 'em all. There's his feelings for Takeda, his memory for Jubei, his promise and regard for Kenshi, and Scorpion just simmering underneath the surface , ready to muck it all up .. Wait - why am I telling you all this?! :O :P

But he's still a pleasure to write - I think this current arc might just expand by a chapter or two, because of Mister Hasashi :P

Anyhow, before I launch into the update - here's a quick reply to my fantabulous reviewers :') *EATS ALL THE COOKIES AND HANDS OUT CHOCOLATES AND NACHOS*

**BrutusSilentium** \- Get sick of you all? NEVER! Hopefully you'll all stick around till the end of this :'D

**PunkRoseBlitz** \- Why, thank you my friend! I'm glad to see you feel the Cappo's developed - she's gonna play a central role in my MKX rewrite fic (IF I EVER GET TO WRITING THAT LOL!) - but nice to see she's at least not annoying... And just to give you a hint, Kenshi's gonna get a reprieve for the next few chapters.. He's through the worst :')

** .Li1y** \- An interesting notion.. I believe he would have become affected by the Blood Kode - but only after becoming Daegon's own little whipping boy first. More on that soon, I hope :P

**Hell-On-Training-Wheels** \- You're honestly embarrassing me, I'm sure you'll do Hanzo justice perfectly, and my little interpretation will look like a plastic doll in front of your rendition, Helly.. I'm glad to see the Captain being received well here (especially since you and PD are the true OC queens here :'D) Thanks SO much for the amazing review - it truly, truly made my day! :'D

**Westcoast_Witchdoctor** \- Wowie, man! You have some serious stamina - I sometimes have to reread this to catch-up, or clarify something, and trust me I haaaaate it xD I love Jakeda, and they'll definitely get their due share in time! And about the Captain/Kenshi pairing - oddly enough, when I was writing her, it actually felt like that. Maybe it's my rusty, 1D writing X_X Anyhow, the Captain and Kenshi are reluctant allies/friends - wary of each other because of how similar they are at times, and because for hardened soldiers, it's just easier that way too. I'm not gonna pair them as a couple, though.. But interesting food for thought xD Hope you enjoy this update :'D

**iceangelmkx** \- Thank you, my friend! :D Included in this update's an expanded version of how things REALLY went down.. and you're right, that Kenshi-Goro alliance idea is just so perfect, even Kittelsen seemed to be up for it :P (I mean, at least he didn't deny it xD).. and I did think about the Mavado part.. He is dead at this point, but Kenshi just doesn't know it yet... I think I'll get back to that later .. Hope you enjoy this! :)

**the-06** \- It's so great to see your feedback, my buddy! xD You're literally too kind - and I'm glad I don't come across as boring.. I just think it's one way to make a story more authentic.. I still try, though.. Hopefully you'll like this update too :)

So just a quick note before I begin - the Japanese childhood rhyme featured in this chapter is called _**"Teru Teru Bozu". **_It's a traditional Japanese rhyme about children making paper dolls (to look like a monk) and wishing him for sunny weather and not rainy days. It was featured in MK Legacy, Episode 7 (I think), when Jubei stands to sing that song, and Hanzo and Kana discuss his future as a Shirai Ryu warrior (... and thus ignoring his singing :P)

And finally, I'm sticking with Kana and Jubei. I grew up with Kana and Jubei - I have no idea why they changed it to Harumi and Satoshi in MKX right out of the blue.

**DISCLAIMER: Spare me, I own nothing. Except for Jehan. And Michiko :P**

* * *

**_THE TAKAHASHI FAMILY SAGA_**

**_OF A FATHER'S FOLLY_**

**_II_**

* * *

_**Shirai Ryu Temple,**_

_**Classified Location,**_

_**Japan.**_

They said roots can live without branches, but branches become lifeless, without roots.

Upon his return to his original homeland, Hanzo Hasashi contemplated whether he was the root, or the branch.

Despite the endless green hills that surrounded him, and the river that coursed powerfully, Hanzo remained critically aware that despite being in Japan, this was somehow, not home.

He inhaled deeply, feeling the crisp, clean air cool his lungs and calm him – making him more thoughtful, rational of his own internal musings.

There had been a time when he had not cared whether he was cold, or alone – or what the scenery looked like. Burning with anger, hatred – rotting in the Netherrealm, it's unforgiving dark, crimson skies; lava, acid and pus seeping from the grounds, every inch of the realm screaming, haunted by its black demons, cursed indefinitely by the elder gods.

And then, there had been the countless missions in Outworld; with its purple skies and shadow of death looming every corner. He had been serving Quan Chi then, never questioning, only obeying, like a mindless dog.

That memory brought with it a piercing pang in his heart, and a shame that was wholly his own.

No. Earthrealm's cool blue skies, and lush green grounds were a balm to his ailing mind, and soul. The spectre exhaled slowly, as if exorcising the ghosts of his past along with a vapour of breath.

A bare hint of a smile touched his lips, eyes crinkling at the corners, in a quizzical realisation that persisted despite his thankfulness to be back in Earthrealm. There had been something distinctly majestic, untamed and warrior-like about the Himalayan mountains of his previous abode.

The very essence of that plateau had reflected the indomitable spirit of the Shirai Ryu.

In comparison to that unnamed place in an unnamed part of the world, this new location, with its neat hills and a picture-perfect river - seemed, dare he admit, downright _docile_.

With hazel eyes turning stern, he frowned disapprovingly.

'_At least no one can bother us…'_

Nevertheless, nothing could be done now. This hilly plateau would have to simply have to do.

And maybe, for the better. The Shirai Ryu, at the end, did not prove to be indomitable at all.

'_A fall too many.'_

Hanzo was used to losing all he had held dear.

Crossing his forearms over the windowsill, Hanzo leaned forward, and glanced at the temporary canvas awnings below. The building of the main temple and living quarters had been completed – but the construction of the dojo was still unfinished – and weighing heavily on them. Dark clouds had gathered already, dimming the brilliant rays of the sun as it began its descent from the zenith.

The rainy season was due upon them any time, now.

But at least, unlike before, Hanzo was not alone in the founding of yet another abode, a place to call home.

He saw Takeda on the steps of the main temple, accompanied by a young child, General Morimoto's … daughter, or granddaughter – Hanzo did not remember which, and he neither cared much for it.

The local unit in the Japanese Self Defence Forces were aiding with the resettlement of the Shirai Ryu – and the ever-friendly Takeda had found unlikely company in the small, shy seven-year old with pigtails and an intent stare, that followed him all around, like a hapless puppy.

Presently, both were giggling like little conspirators, the girl hiding her laugh behind a tiny palm. Hanzo kept staring at them from above, not announcing his audience, but observing in silence.

Takeda. What did the boy mean to him? His most prized student. With lightning fast movements, a keen sense of handling swords – no doubt inherited from his father. Juvenile, undoubtedly – prone to carelessness. At times trusting too readily, and at others, not yielding at all. Misreading the enemy.

But strangely – curious. Almost in a child-like manner; despite being witness to gore and grit, various tragedies in his life, he had retained his curiosity, innocence, and sincere benevolence.

His father was nothing like it, Hanzo ruminated with a frown. Takahashi Kenshi was all wit and aplomb, though it carefully concealed a thoughtful, poignant man. But even he was hesitant in exhibiting any _curiosity_ – at least, openly. Perhaps, he did not harbour such a sentiment at all, not delving into matters that did not concern him.

Takeda, on the other hand, had a capacity for simple _goodness_; for being kind, generous – a trait that flowed out from him in gushing torrents, outside even his own imagining.

The girl had presently handed him a bag, rustling with paper. Takeda had raised an eyebrow, frowning with feigned suspicion, eliciting a small whine from the child. He then put a hand in, fishing out the bag's contents.

Hanzo shook his head, thoughtfully. Had he taught him to be kind? Had he taught him to place others before him? To open himself to strangers as he did so, become vulnerable - share his food even if all he'd gotten was a measly scrap to begin with?

Ever since the incident with the blood demon, he did not speak much now. But his clear eyes spoke in place of his voice. In his confused silences, in his tempest quietness – Takeda's eyes spoke. About reverence of Hanzo himself, the pain of losing his mother, his struggles with training and the prospect of being forsaken.

The yearning of a father…

As it stood, Takeda hated his biological father. Detested him, and would not hear a single word in his favour.

But Hanzo had his suspicions. He questioned the hate that flowed as strongly, as passionately as love did, but in an opposite current. The styling of a uselessly long bandanna across his forehead, so that the tails fluttered behind him, like Kenshi's blindfold. Or his lone sessions practicing with an old katana as if mirroring the Sento; one he usually undertook only after a tiff with Hanzo.

The boy had spirit – no questions about that. But one did not need to be a telepath to realise that Takeda craved for a father's attention, and presence. His authority, and guidance. Counsel, and protection.

But those eyes sought that father in Hanzo.

And caught in between his promise to the blind swordsman, and his own developing feelings for the child, the ninja found himself at odds – one that tested the limits of his own patience.

Though he had turned the boy away at every opportunity, little did he know that Takeda, with his own small ways, his unwavering devotion, loyalty and nobility in the face of adversary, had crept into the ninja's heart, and melted the walls he had built so selfishly around it.

Every command now, was softer. Every order now, issued with the ease of his student in mind. Every burden that needed carrying, Hanzo tried to take it all onto his own shoulders, to spare Takeda, though the young fighter hardly let him.

The eagerness and curiosity of a child, with the ruthless agility and brutal skills. Compounded by a conscience that was firmly rooted in right and wrong…

For all that had befallen him, the boy did not hold a single malignant thought – his heart was clear, like a luminous, cloudless sky.

For some unknown reason, Hanzo's chest swelled with pride. He stood straighter, taller – beaming at his student, silently commending his bravery, nobility and humility – the fruition of his efforts, an almost perfect warrior. As if it was his own flesh and blood, blooming into a stellar young man after painful trials, despite Takeda's own flighty sense of self.

If only Kenshi could see his son, now...

And in that moment, Hanzo's chest deflated – and a revelation, previously gnawing for recognition – like a haunting premonition, now dawned fully like the very sun he beheld a moment ago.

Takeda _belonged_ to the blind swordsman. His flesh and blood, his progeny.

'_**His**_ _son_.'

Hanzo had been nothing but a temporary caretaker…

This boy, would never be his own.

And so, just when Takeda had started singing a children's rhyme with the child, Hanzo had reacted viciously. A breach had occurred, and Scorpion's all-consuming anger bubbled and boiled just beneath the surface – an enraged, tormented face threatening to pierce all that he had stood for, and turn it to ashes, once more.

Jubei's memory - his face, young, trusting, but with details forgotten – swam into view. Like holding the edges of a frayed photograph, knowing the memory exists, but still unable to make out the picture; a glaring blank space at the edge of remembrance.

He could not remember, but he felt he may have given in to the demon for a few moments.

After decades of burying it deep inside, his frustration at being unable to recall Jubei tore through his defences.

No. Like Jubei, _this_ unlikely son of his, too would be snatched away from him.

The gods mocked him now, once more.

Takeda was never his own. And never will be, either.

* * *

"_Teru teru bozu, teru bozu… Ashita-"_ Takeda laughed jovially as the words spilled for the first time from his mouth, the children's rhyme as innocent as the purpose that it was meant for. It sounded silly, and meaningless – yet the little girl in front of him regarded him with a wide-eyed, serious glare; as if his laughing at the poem would undermine its phenomenal, weather-altering powers.

"Takeda-san!" Young Michiko admonished, hands on her hips - all of her seven years shrouded behind the overly mature manner in which she spoke. The bobbing pigtails elicited another giggle – as Michiko scolded:

"You can't finish building if the rains come soon! Say it right!"

"All right, Michiko-chan! I'll start again-" he teased back with an easy laugh, dimples bracketing his mouth, blue eyes glittering with a childish mischief as he grabbed another paper doll from the girl's outstretched hands, and secured it in the corner-pillar to the massive doorway he and Hanzo had laid down for the new Shirai Ryu temple.

"_Teru-"_

"TAKEDA!"

The booming roar nearly had the young Shirai Ryu toss the knife-blade he carried at his waist at the enemy, his hairs raised at the back of his neck, tendons wrought with tension. Swirling behind, he saw nothing at first. The voice continued to echo around his ears, like a mangled chant.

With the knife raised in a hand, and the young child shielding herself behind him, Takeda looked about warily, his senses tingling…

_A whisper, a cry of terror, a groan of anger… _Pain flashed in a temple like a bolt of lightning, before disappearing almost instantly.

Takeda swore he almost saw the sudden glow of a fire at the corner of his eye. He immediately turned at the direction, but saw nothing there but the empty hallway. Only did he return his gaze to his front, did he see Master Hasashi looming in front of him, appearing out of nowhere - seething with naked rage, arms crossed over his muscular chest, eyes narrowed to slits.

Takeda hastily bowed, and sheathed the blade.

"Grandmaster, you startled me-"

"Get the child out. NOW!"

The Chujin-in-training nearly flinched, his eyes wide with shock – struggling to maintain his composure. He had rarely seen _Hanzo_ in such anger. There was no shadow of doubt – the hazel eyes fixed fiercely on him were the ninja's eyes, not the demon Scorpion's.

He felt something quiver beside his leg – as a gasp escaped little Michiko. Before he could comfort her, or guide her home, she took off in a sprint herself. The receding sounds of her terrified wailing and crying filled the awkward silence that fell in between the master and the student.

With clenched fists and jaw, Takeda breathed through his nose, staring at the stone step Hanzo stood on – struggling to keep a lid on his own anger at the senseless reaction from his teacher.

"That – was uncalled for, Master," he spat coldly.

As if in reply, Takeda felt two strong hands grab his shoulder, and pull him – so that he stood nose-to-nose with the Grandmaster, in a ghost of an embrace that stopped midway, and never fully materialised.

He then felt the grip falter, as Hanzo's hand trembled. He looked up at the Grandmaster – only to see a face etched with silenced agony, one that glittered in his hazel eyes – a window to the guarded, tortured soul that now nursed reopened wounds.

'_Teru teru bozu….'_

A haunting crescendo of voices surrounded Takeda. A male child's broken voice sang the same song as he was singing moments ago. This was followed by a soft woman's tone; wavering in volume, the words hazed, unintelligible - but somehow familiar.

'_My Jubei… Jubei's song… How dare you…' _Hanzo seemed to speak in his head, but his eyes witnessed the stony lips not move at all.

The voices faded, and Takeda's migraine set in again, burning white-hot behind his eyelids.

Hanzo continued to stare, and it was as if one was staring at the sun. Though the student was no stranger to his grandmaster's stern glare, he felt this particular gaze bore into him with a ferocity that burned like fire itself. As though Takeda had earned the grandmaster's scorn, trespassed deeply in some way…

For a moment, Takeda felt the fierceness vanish, replaced by a longing – was if Hanzo was searching beseechingly in fighter's face for someone; to recognise someone that simply wasn't there.

A flash of pain hit young Takahashi again, followed by a cutting chill, as if the air around them had dropped suddenly to arctic temperatures. In his mind's eye, an eerily nostalgic picture was engraved:

Of a Shirai Ryu fighter, his yellow robe tattered and bloodied from battle, kneeling in stained snow - before the frozen remains of -

Hanzo unhanded him that very second, taking a step back. Takeda felt his surroundings swim back into focus, the sound of his heart thundering in his ears drowning out his premonitions, warming his against the cold, an oft-occurring headache setting in.

He let out a breath he had no idea he had been holding all throughout.

Takeda was not entirely sure if he heard the spectre whisper these words to him, or if this was another voice in his mind – he had been having such bizarre episodes much more frequently now.

Despite Hanzo's still face and unreadable expression, the voice grew louder, more coherent, but the tonal volume wavering – as if someone deliberately tampered with the volume control on a radio:

'_I see my Jubei in you, Takeda… But you can never be my own…'_

The moment passed as suddenly as it had appeared. The Grandmaster breathed heavily, as if exhaling out the strange possession that had taken hold of him – and blinked several times, tearing his eyes away from Takeda, to the back of the running child, who was now nothing but a mere spot near the horizon.

The mask was back in place – but Takeda undoubtedly, had glimpsed the face of the man who had undergone unspeakable shame, pain and loss – before he had honed it into flames from the deepest pits of Hell itself.

Hanzo turned, facing the pillar, regarding the paper dolls that hung by the doorway with a peculiar hatred, one that had replaced his vulnerable lapse from moments ago.

"Get-rid-of-those," he ordered curtly, his deep growl dripping heavily with unfounded spite.

Takeda leveled his eyes at him, jaw tight with tension. The flashing pain had receded now to a dull throb in his temples.

"They are not mine, I'll return them to-" Takeda began, his voice taking an edge against the Grandmaster's unreasonable request.

"Do whatever you wish, but _I_ do not want to see them again! Is that clear?"

"Crystal," came a sullen, icy reply.

Hanzo folded his hands behind his back, and turned to him with a raised eyebrow, noting the defiant tone. But he knew, that for all his qualities, Takeda was but a teenager, and one who was easily provoked. He decided to forgo the transgression, in a fashion that was much more paternal than the grandmaster would ever openly admit.

Thus, he said nothing, and began to walk back into the hallway.

After a brief pause of hesitation, Takeda called out quietly:

"Master Hasashi?" his voice was subdued, but laced with an unusual authority; as if Hanzo owed him a response, an explanation. As if he had an unspoken control over the hell-wraith, despite being at the lower end of their hierarchy.

Hasashi stopped short, his footfalls echoing all around the empty corridor – though he did not turn back to look at his student.

"Are… you… all right?"

Evidently, the student knew his boundaries. Perhaps, a little too much.

Hanzo let out a dark chuckle at the irony of the situation, one that rumbled ominously around him, sounded like boulders rolling off mountains; before he slowly enunciated, drawing out each syllable slowly, and in a deep timbre -

"Right as rain, boy."

* * *

**_Unknown Location,_**

**_Near Mount Godwin-Austin, Western Himalayas,_**

**_Sino-Pakistan border._**

**_Midnight -_**

Never would a woman take pleasure in the sight of a man kneeling before his son's supposed grave – but for Ara, it brought a sense of quiet elation.

After weeks of gruelling search, fruitless bargaining and haggling with other organisation members over use of bases and technology, the despondent, dejected Captain had been on the verge of abandoning her mission, and returning back to her work.

There had been intense activity in various remote locations in Outworld, supposed Red Dragon activity. And following the Reiko Accords, Earthrealm was to rally Kotal's support, and issue a communique about a joint force targeting the criminal cells. The initial diplomatic attache had to be arranged – and there seemed no reason to keep pursuing a lone swordsman, who was given to laying low, and for most part, seemed to have the trust of the OIA behind him.

Then again, she was not targeting Kenshi because she _personally_ saw him as a threat. Unfortunately, organisational mistrust still prevailed across the world – even though the founding of the regional organisation SHAHEEN was seen as a confidence-building exercise. Thus, when Ara was told to bring him in for questioning, she had no choice but to oblige. And in the face of imminent failure, she was quite close to aborting the mission, and her superiors had stopped pursuing it almost entirely.

Until – a tip, from the OIA leader, Lt. General Blade herself, suggested that Kenshi may be within her jurisdiction – visiting the old Shirai Ryu site, to meet his son.

Ara had chanced the journey - and serendipitously, hit jackpot.

There he was, nearly prostrating in front of the mass burial, hands placed at the hilt of his sword as it glowed, whilst lodged in the ground. Though she noted the changed attire, a new, but simultaneously old-looking armour – but the signature red bandanna fluttered behind him – as snow accumulated on the swordsman's back and neck, and ravens gathered near his knees.

Evidently, he had been petrified in this position for a long while now; the very picture of a tragic, defeated hero. Jehan folded her arms, and shook her head in pity.

'_He's back to square one too now, isn't he?'_

The answer did not matter. Silently loading her 9mm, she walked towards her target – knowing that he was too submerged in his own thoughts to notice her at all.

A few moments later, she stood directly behind him – while he did not move an inch. Inhaling deeply, the Captain raised her gun, planting it directly behind Takahashi's skull, unlocking the safety.

The metallic 'click' almost echoed around him; but again, if the swordsman of her presence, he did not make a show of it, yet.

"It's over, Takahashi."

A small silence fell over them. The ravens cawed, and fluttered away in a flurry of black wings, mixed with snow.

"You're named after the noble falcon, but you sneak up onto me like a snake," Kenshi remarked lowly, but without any malice. He finally raised his head from his bowed position, but only to fix his sightless gaze on the view of the burial ahead.

The Captain was bored at the reply, and tired of the conversation already.

"If I wanted to kill you, swordsman, you wouldn't be talking now," she replied deadpan, her weapon unmoving from its position.

"You should have done it when you had the chance, Captain."

Unlike before, there was no challenge in his tone, no skepticism at her behaviour, no underlying lesson to impart that only he had knowledge of.

Takahashi Kenshi was a defeated man, tonight. On various fronts, as it was.

"I have orders to arrest you, for suspicion of clandestine activities against civilians. Given your chequered history with the Red Dragon, we have doubts about your true allegiance, therefore–"

Jehan was cut off by a deep, dark snicker of laughter – as mocking as it was incredulous. Disbelieving; as if her entire act was staged, insincere. It continued for a few seconds, causing the female soldier to doubt the man's very sanity.

Kenshi threw his head back, and let out another cackle, and it was then that Jehan noticed the tears rolling from the sides of his eyes towards his temples, staining his blindfold wet.

Despite claiming not being able to read her, Jehan feared he may have found another way; either that, or he had called her bluff.

"You," he began with a humorless, disgusted grin after his mirth subsided; "You are just like the rest of them."

"Nothing personal, Takahashi-"

"What was all that then?!" he snarled angrily, turning his face toward his shoulder, "That day! About saving what others consider _collateral damage_, about _guilt, _Jehan?!"

In a flash, he was up, a single fist grabbing the woman by her collar and bringing her near his face.

"You-allowed-this-to-happen! You were on guard, here – _you_ _said you would protect my son_!"

He telekinetically beckoned the Sento to his free hand, twirling it from the wrist behind him, so that the cold edge of the blade was pointed right at her face. A second later, it started telekinetically boring into her face.

Despite having the loaded gun in her hand, the Captain made no move to resist. She hardly ever did when she realised her end may be up so close.

This incision by the Sento, under her right eye, and the sting of the metal that was both hot and cold at the same time – was undoubtedly promising.

Maybe the legendary blade of the Sento could overcome what normal guns and knives had faltered against – take her worthless life. She never took offence at the notion of a cheap death.

Until, her damned conscience, or perhaps pity, took the place of her wretched desire for a final closure.

"He's safe, Kenshi."

She saw the creases of his blindfold straighten out, eyebrows raise – and it was then that she realised the hollowed out cheeks, unkempt hair and beard on the once immaculately clean, healthy swordsman.

The grip on her throat became lax, and once Kenshi let go, Jehan fell straight on her back with a grunt; the entirety of her view filling with endless stars, like blue velvet strewn across the boundless sky, snowflakes falling on her face in a soft, white lullaby.

The cracked Sento, glowing an angry crimson, drew back, and eventually sheathed itself in the scabbard at the back.

"Start talking," Kenshi growled with authority, he said, as he loomed darkly above her.

The Captain fished out a Marlboro from her pocket, lit the cigarette, and blew the smoke it into night-time sky, it's faint orange-glow the only source of light, apart from the bright starlight and moon that shone radiantly, and brilliantly in front of her.

"You're coming with me, irrespective, Kenshi. So might just hear this, before I take you into custody," Jehan said calmly, before launching into a summary of what transpired in the past few months – from Fox's possession, to the Shirai Ryu massacre, the showdown in Outworld, and Takeda's unwavering bravery in the face of adversity.

At some point, Kenshi had taken a seat beside her, arms looping over his knees, listening intently. Now, with her monologue finished, he sat deep in thought, while the Captain puffed away the remainder of her cigarette.

"And I thought by living with Hanzo, he'd be spared such a fate," Kenshi remarked, his face practically skeletal under the dim, orange glow.

"You did what you thought best, Takahashi…"

There was a moment of hesitation, painted visibly on Kenshi's face – but he took the plunge, and asked in a curious, but concerned tone: "Did you visit him often? How… is he, now?"

Jehan smiled wanly at the silenced eagerness of the man before her.

"Once every few months. He'd grow taller, lankier every time I saw him. Smart kid – with a smart mouth too. They said he's very fast in kombat, but a little on the careless side." She turned to face the estranged father, with a skeptical raise of a brow: "Your literal doppelganger. Minus the wild caveman look. You look awful, by the way."

Kenshi's mouth lifted in a wistful, lopsided grin, as he pictured his son in his mind's eye – brimming with a youthful glow at the prime age of sixteen, handling a sword as expertly as the telepath himself did, in his age.

"The Red Dragon did not exactly provide grooming services when I was in their captivity."

Sand coloured eyes widened a fraction, as Jehan sat up straighter at hearing his words.

"That where you'd been all this time?" she asked cautiously.

The swordsman nodded.

"Go on."

"Is that an order?" He ventured a guess.

"What do you think? The gun's loaded; and unlike you, I have no qualms pulling the trigger."

The swordsman inhaled deeply, nodding to himself, a private smile playing at the corner of his mouth, despite his situation.

"Feed the desperate what he wants, and let him pave the way for you." He paused, not in a dramatic fashion, but a serious one – as if mulling over what to reveal, and what to conceal.

Jehan, though skeptical of the cryptic words, kept silent – and waited for him to continue.

"I'd heard of an arms build-up near Outworld's border with Chaos Realm, near the Krimson Forest – supposed Red Dragon activity. It warranted investigation, and unlike you, I don't wait around for orders. I moved in immediately, and found an unlikely ally – in an armless Shokan. We worked out a deal – I'd feign capture by Goro, and he would hand me over to Daegon, in exchange for his missing limbs. After that, I would seize my chance, and kill him for good."

"So what went wrong?"

"Nearly everything. Daegon demanded more – he sent Goro on a wild chase across the realms, for what, I don't know – except that his reward would come after he had completed his task. I remained in captivity, during all that time…"

He paused, taking a swig of water from a small container, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.

"Did they starve you?"

Jehan voiced her estimation, noticing his loose clothing and sunken features – but Kenshi's act of slowly turning away from her, was the only answer. Whatever kept him from confessing it, honour or ego, was utterly futile. His pitiful, haggard look spoke for itself.

Kenshi's voice turned sombre, as he continued:

"I had threatened Goro, and meant every word of it. If he dared even _thinking_ about walking away from our bargain, I would hunt him down, and I would slice apart every limb of his, and feed it to the vultures on his Gorbak's grave, with the whole Shokan as my witness. And when I thought he had betrayed me – and I fantasized about that day so bad, I nearly tasted his blood."

"But Goro – Goro truly is a prince, after all," Kenshi boasted, slightly triumphant. "He had travelled the realms, and did Daegon's bidding. And after he'd restored his arms, Goro and the Shokan queen Sheeva, ambushed the Red Dragon stronghold, destroying everything in sight. But it worked out well enough… By the time they were through, the Red Dragon's sole base of operations was up in flames, along with the bodies of those that worshipped the bastard. It was a completely merciless onslaught – I heard Sheeva claim vengeance for Kintaro as well…"

Jehan nodded – as the supposed alias seemed to fall into place; no viable reason of doubt presenting itself to her, yet.

"That makes sense - Kintaro was killed when the Shokan, Shirai Ryu and Kotal Kahn's forces launched a combined attack against the blood demon, and Havik, who was backed up by the Red Dragon."

"I see…" Kenshi said as he ruminated that piece of information.

"What about Daegon?"

The swordsman's face immediately turned grim, as if on the edge of a raging storm.

"He escaped, by the very skin of his teeth," Kenshi's voice trembled under the weight of his barely concealed rage. "But – I believe I have done definite damage to him…"

"How so?"

Kenshi turned his blindfolded face directly Ara's way, before unsheathing the Sento again, angling it diagonally against the ground, so that the entire length of the sharp steel was exposed for the soldier's viewing.

Jehan noted the glowing red cracks, brimming with sorcery or magik that she had no knowledge of. But faintly smeared toward the lower tip of the blade, was faded blood, now almost black – alongside many threads of a white, milky substance that had once flowed along with the blood, but had now congealed in dirty, transparent globs along the blade.

"An eye for an eye – though I'd say he got off easy…"

The realisation hit her with the force of being hit by a canon - and maintaining composure suddenly became an arduous task in itself.

"So, you _blinded_ him…" she said, her voice unsteady.

He nodded, putting away the Sento again, instead of wiping it clean as warriors of his ilk were trained to do. Jehan, in turn, grimaced disgustingly and turned away from the swordsman, the proof of his mindless brutality engraved within her mind.

"A mere pittance, compared to what he deserved," he paused, fixing his eerie, blindfolded gaze towards her.

"At least now he'll finally see the world through my eyes."

Kenshi turned away, and a long moment of silence fell in between the duo. Seated across from each other, much the same way as they had eight years ago, in a dingy train rendered sweltering by the infamous Karachi heat, to meeting in between the marriage of the Himalayas and the Karakorams, surrounded by the highest peaks in the realm as their witness, unconquerable in their wintry glory.

A wolf cried periodically in distance, filling the air with its melancholic song, as crickets chirped away heedless in the dead of night. The scent of conifers, snow and smoke hung thickly in the air – as if shrouding the duo in an invisible mantle, each absorbed in their own universe.

Then, the wind started again. Howling and daring, it commanded the spirit deep within, inspiring it to battle, to overcome all that stood in one's way, with an unparalleled fervour. A call to go beyond the confines of the mind and soul – to shatter through one's fears…

She listened intently, and felt this moment – of unspoken, shared confessions of solitude, loss and the fruitless quest for revenge - crystallise into a clear message. One that emphasised this vague sense of companionship, communion – similar to the bond she shared with his son.

It was as if the writing was in front of her, all along.

In the madness of that moment, Jehan made a decision, one that was entirely baffling to her own sense of rationality.

"Shingo Village, Aomori Prefecture. Your native country, Japan."

She got up on her knees, fished out two packs of rations, meant to last an entire day each, and tossed them towards the swordsman, who sat alert now, regarding the soldier warily.

The Captain locked on the safety and holstered her weapon, before standing up to walk away.

"Eat well. And give Takeda my regards."

Unbeknownst to the retreating female soldier, Takahashi Kenshi had voiced his thanks quietly – borne witness only by the lone mountains, and the robust, incessant wind.

* * *

_**Shirai Ryu Temple,**_

_**Classified Location,**_

_**Japan.**_

_**Evening -**_

"Master Hasashi… About earlier today… If I came across as rude, then I apologise..."

Hanzo glanced up from his dinner, and regarded the student beside him with a quizzical look. His hands were folded beneath the table, eyes downcast, food untouched. There it was again, the crisp formality. Not the kind shared in between a master and a student, but one of absolute strangers.

No such transgression came to Hanzo's mind, none that needed apologising for, at least. There has to be more than just that-

"But… I have to talk to you about a few things…"

Hanzo nearly smiled. He had no idea if the boy was becoming predictable, or if Hanzo himself had internalised his mannerisms so well as to read him to perfection.

"Is it about your headaches again?"

Takeda bit his lip, and finally looked at Hasashi.

"Yes. They've started coming with visions and voices now."

Hanzo's expressionless face betrayed the surprise he felt inside. The symptoms were becoming manifest – the grandmaster's usefulness seemed to come at an end. Much to the ninja's utter despair.

He neatly placed his chopsticks beside his plate, and looked fully towards the Chujin-in-training.

"Takeda-"

"It's because of _him_, isn't it?!" Futile anger laced his tone.

Hanzo sighed heavily. He never looked forward to such conversations, one that involved the mention of Kenshi; it revealed parts of him he had no wish to see again. And brought with it a sense of betrayal that was too much to bear.

But the spectre steeled himself for battle, as he had done many a times before, and for less nobler causes.

"You and I need to discuss a few things, and its best we do them now," he reasoned, his tone steady like the earth itself.

Takeda leaned back and crossed his arms, enraged, though he said nothing.

"I am not fully aware of the extent of your father's powers. He guards his secrets well, as should you. But I truly hope this is nothing but your ancestral powers manifesting – hearing voices and seeing visions in itself, is not a good sign, especially in our world."

"But I know nothing about this – how do I treat it? Or at least control them? The words, the images – sometimes, they just won't get out of my head, Master…"

Hanzo frowned thoughtfully. "Apart from your father, I don't think anyone can answer your-"

"Are you actually expecting _him _to jump right in and teach me how to take care of this?!" Takeda shot furiously. "He left me, he abandoned me right after my mother died! I mean nothing to him, Master – can't you see?! He's _never_ coming back!"

Hanzo recalled the last time he had seen the swordsman, eight years ago, when he had left the child under his care.

'_I can never be a father to him, only a taskmaster…'_

How wrong had he been all those years ago. Hanzo realised now how much he ached to agree with Takeda, fuel his hatred for Kenshi and ultimately have him all to himself, the son he never had. What unusually fine line was he treading – where his promise to an ally collided with his own selfish desire.

Of raising the son he never had.

"I promised your father I would keep you safe, until he returned," answered Hanzo, his head bent, and eyes turned away from the young man before him. "And I intend to keep that promise, Takeda."

"You're fooling yourself then, Grandmaster," the teenager returned, sullen. "This may be a lesson for you, not me."

"That remains to be seen," answered Hanzo, his steely voice toneless, and hollow. "But know this: if you have an ounce of respect for me, you'll eventually respect him too – once you see Kenshi for what he truly is."

"He's nothing but a regular deadbeat, Master."

"On the contrary, we have much in common," Hanzo said, his heart brimming with a private gratitude for the swordsman, who had rescued him from his own depths what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"But what brought him to my doorstep all those years ago, is not my story to tell. You will learn, when your time comes… And it is then, that you and I, Takeda, would become equals; travellers on the same path – not a master, and a student."

Quietly picking up his chopsticks, Hanzo began to eat his dinner, and a silence fell in between them. Takeda remained transfixed on his teacher, his cryptic words, and mannerisms strangely compelling him to recall a long-forgotten day, in Japan – where he and Kenshi had shared a meal of ramen, with an old woman complimenting them.

Except Kenshi had come clean to him, then. About his work, his life… The memory brought a buried demon of the past – of the love he'd once felt for his blind father, and the need to gain his acceptance.

To think he holds the answers…

Instantly, Hanzo's voice rang in his head, followed by a young boy's singing – and the image of the kneeling, weeping Shirai Ryu warrior. From the haze of conflictual emotions, the sharpness of a renewed migraine and the shiver that went down his spine, a word formed in Takeda's head – as personal, as familiar as a family member's name would perhaps be.

Takeda knew this would buy him more trouble than what he'd bargained for – but he could not wait for Kenshi to come and answer _all_ of his questions.

And so, in a hushed, quiet tone, and a wary glance, he asked the former hell-wraith about a wound, that ran too deep for words.

"Grandmaster… who was Jubei?"

* * *

Please don't kill me? :P Although in all honesty, I thought it was a pretty 'meh' update :/

**References:**

**MKX comics/Kittelsen/iceangelmkx/TRMK forums** \- for pitching the idea of a Kenshi-Goro alliance, that is just too epic to not include :'D

**Teru Teru Bozu - **here is a small translation for the actual song -

_Sunny, sunny monk boy, sunny monk boy,_

_Tomorrow, make the weather nice for me_

_Like a heavenly dream once upon a time_

_If it clears, I'll give you a gold bell. (... etc.)_

**'Oraganisational haggling'/politics within regional bodies: **Mentioned as a sidenote when showing how Jehan had to strive hard to get hold of resources, leads and technology to complete her mission. More often than not, conducting military missions is often confusing, with overlapping chains of command and very actor-specific bargaining positions undertaken by those involved. I read about this in detail in a paper by Graham T. Allison as he analysed the essence of decision-making during the Cuban Missile Crisis.. A very mundane read, but it is how it is :P

That's all I got for now! :)

**Please do let me know what went wrong, what I should improve upon, or what was done good (if any), in this update.. Looking forward to hearing from you all.. Until then, enjoy and have a great day! :)**


	15. Of a Father's Folly III

**HELLO PEOPLE =D**

Lumie is back, after a woefully long break. I have been really behind my updating schedule - but I had a dental surgery, followed by a bout of food poisoning, and the doctors all recommended I rest myself and not use the Internet/laptop too much... Anyhow, it's all well and good now, so on with the show! :)

I figure this update would tie up this arc. Although to be very honest, I'm not sure if I ought to end it right here, or add in another chapter. I'm leaning more towards the former, because then, I can avoid some of the filler stuff to come later. I really don't want my readers to feel bored in any update, hence I'm careful about chapter lengths... Nevertheless, any feedback on this front (the pacing of the chapters and the content) would be greatly appreciated :)

To the wonderful people to reviewed - a great big thank you! :D

**Westcoast Witchdoctor -** Hehee, thanks xD I doubt I could fit that in, since it's quite further up the timeline... Or maybe not... Hmm... I'll definitely think about it xD

**Minarvia -** Thanks for reviewing! :) I haven't checked those out - but I actually have that in mind for Jehan (my OC) - the reason she's wary of and keeps distance from Sonya and the SF is because she fears they might test her out or do experiments and stuff - she does have internal healing powers... But I'll check those out soon :)

**PunkRoseBlitz -** Awww thank you! And another potential Captain/Kenshi shipper xD Well, don't worry, the swordsman's gonna stay loyal to his late lady love, and not my confused Captain (she'll get her boy soon - and its another OC) xD And thanks SO much for the latter - I always feel a chapter is lacking if there's no action in it, as if its filler O_O But glad to see you liked it! :'D

**BrutusSilentium -** Oh wow, man. I love you - and YOU sir, are greatness! xD

**iceangelmkx -** I totally agree with your view on Hanzo's families name thing.. Boon and Co. have short term memories, what else can I say x_x Anyhow, here's the long-awaited meet-up, so I hope you enjoy this too! Thanks for the lovely words 3

**PinkRedRose2** \- Wow, thanks so much for your words! I'm glad you're enjoying this, I'm doing my best and such words do a lot of good to my confidence and writing! Please keep reading, and reviewing! :D

Also many thanks to the wonderful people who have favourited this - I'd love to hear from y'all as well! :D

**NOTE:** As always, thoughts and flashbacks are in _ITALICS_ :)

Now, without any further ado -

**DISCLAIMER - All characters belong to their rightful owners. And thus, all OCs are mine.**

* * *

_**THE TAKAHASHI FAMILY SAGA**_

_**OF A FATHER'S FOLLY**_

_**III**_

* * *

_**The Shirai Ryu Temple,**_

_**Classified Location,**_

_**Japan -**_

_**12.41AM**_

The blessings from a few paper dolls were evidently not enough to quell the grieving heavens. It poured with a ferocity rarely seen before - and somewhere in the back of his mind, Takeda feared they might have to deal with flash flooding if it continued to rain the way it did.

But that errant thought was overpowered by other raging, destructive ideas – ones that consumed the soul with an anguish that paralleled the skies above - and soon was lost underneath a tidal wave of emotions the young fighter had suppressed for far too long.

Drenched to the bone, the younger Takahashi practised with a sharpened katana, its blade glittering like molten silver in the pale light of the stars. The inner courtyard was deserted entirely, illuminated only by the raging lightning, glistening wet and cold as death.

The katana continued to shine through – the bereaved Shirai Ryu fighter executing the entirety of its movements, from quick stabs to wide-arced slashes, in aggressive but controlled motions – a dancing lightshow of a young, forsaken heart.

The heart. The foolish, childish heart – still bent on attaining normalcy, still yearning to be loved.

Forgetting how easily that his was a meaningless existence, an _unwanted_ existence. Simmering just beneath the skin – had he really been this blind? To not recognise the very curse of his existence.

Teeth gritted in a grimace, arms aching with effort, and the mind – a warzone painted red with the death of his own self.

The words exchanged with his grandmaster during their argument before played endlessly in his mind. And despite it all, Takeda was glad for the rain – it erased the tracks of his own emotional outpour.

'_Grandmaster… Who was Jubei?'_

_Gold-coloured eyes widened, glaring at him with such an intensity, Takeda feared his very soul would be snatched out from his body._

'_Where-did-you-hear-that-name-boy?' _

_The rage was barely concealed, the tone threatening. Hanzo could have strangled him at this point – but Takeda knew this was the only time they would have this conversation. _

'_Today… At the doorway… I heard voices, talking… that's when I heard-'_

'_Hasashi, Jubei.' Hanzo's eyes glazed with memory, his voice low, and controlled: 'His name, was Hasashi Jubei.'_

'_Your-your son? From all those years ago…'_

_Hanzo had nodded his affirmation…_

The practice dummy lay dismantled and forgotten long ago. Takeda had attacked it with unbound ferocity; sometimes thinking it to be his father, sometimes the various attackers, sometimes Fox, and of course… Hanzo himself.

His muscles began to scream as he continued without pause, executing the oft-practised kata with clean precision. Agility and speed were always his fortes; but this passion, the underlying strength laid bare in times of life and death – this was new to Takeda.

Bloodlust.

Unbeknownst to him, he had become a warrior with a very keen taste for blood. He thirsted for it, the same way his blade did…

'_Part of me wants to know what voices you heard… but at the same time, I do not wish to hear it, nor speak of this ever again…' Hanzo's threat was confused, but the domineering ninja stared down his student, perhaps hoping his stature would speak where words failed him._

Not tonight, however.

'_But I do, Master. It is as much about me, as it is about you…'_

_And then, Hanzo's voice played in his mind, his secret confession uttered in a moment of weakness, as Takeda trespassed in ways he did not yet understand: _

'_**I see my Jubei in you, but you can never be my own…'**_

_These words stood in between them, not spoken, not whispered – but with a life, an existence of their own. The proverbial elephant in the room…_

'_After all these years, I have nothing but you, and this clan to call my own. But what you thought …' Fists clenched, eyes tearing, Takeda stood up and asked the one question that had been the foundation of his confusions, and fears – all this time: _

'_Would you abandon me in an instant too, like my bastard-father did?'_

'_Takeda!'_

'_I have to know, Grandmaster! This clan's my family, and you're the closest thing I have to a-'_

'_Don't-Takeda! Don't give it a name… Don't give it __**that**__ name!' Hanzo stood now, palms open faced, but his entire body wrought with tension. He breathed in deeply, before continuing in a calmer voice:_

'_I swore to Kenshi that I would not divulge his secrets to you; and I plan to keep my word, come what may. But know, that he had very important reasons for all that he did. Do you understand that, Takeda? It is the word of a warrior, and it must be honour-'_

'_There's no honour when it comes to __**him**__, Master!' Spat Takeda bitterly. 'First, he abandoned my mother, leaving her alone to raise me… I was there, and I saw how hard it was for her!' he had roared, glimpses of a childhood bereft of innocence, flashing in his eyes…_

'_And then, when the chance came, he got rid of me too! Bolted like a cowardly dog the night he told me of her death – as if I could take that news in stride like the heartless man himself! I __**needed**__ a father the most at that time, Master! But he never wanted us – he never wanted me!'_

In Kenshi's sightless eyes, he was worth nothing.

In his darkened heart, he was worth nothing.

In his blackest thoughts –

Takeda missed a step, slipped, and came crashing down on his knees – his body racking with silent sobs as he hung his head to his chest, quivering beneath the emotional onslaught rendered by bitter memories.

_Tears had burned in his eyes, and his voice was on the cusp of breaking. _

'_And even If he had such honourable reasons, then why the secrecy?! What could have made him leave his broken child in the middle of the night?'_

_Hanzo had crossed his arms over his chest, and exhaled slowly._

'_I cannot answer your questions Takeda. But I will not rob you, nor your father of the truth. You are my student and you shall remain so – and when you become Chujin, I will then decide the best course of action for you.'_

_The cool, callous tone – one used with complete strangers - had cut daggers into Takeda's heart; ripping it to pieces as it beat, broken, inside a heaving chest... _

The night clouds laid claim to the weaning moonlight, until the entirety of the Shirai Ryu compound plunged into complete darkness. Thunder rolled across the sky, the incredible sound waves making the entire area quake. As if the heavens had somehow embraced the fighter's grief and rage, roaring with the silent pain in his stead. Rain water hit, and rolled off of his hunched shoulders – unrelenting in their agony.

Takeda paused when the last of the moon rays disappeared, his own haggard breathing raging in his ears, his heart beating powerfully in his throat. With the katana lowered, he stood up again.

The pause made him wonder - if such darkness can make him stop in the middle of his practise, then what would Kenshi's life be, with his darkness as his constant companion?

His lips curled into a humourless, bitter sneer, as he realised that _the son of a bitch_ who had the misfortune of siring him, would never find a modicum of happiness, or contentment in any way. Not with his blindness. Not with the curse that plagued him.

It was funny, how the elder gods worked their way around things.

But then again - Kenshi's blindness had little to do with him.

Lightning flashed again, and surrounded by the dark, effervescing glow of the receding light, he inhaled deeply, and continued his routine again, as his final words rang in his own ears…

'_Master… I respect your beliefs, even if I don't understand, nor agree with them. But at this point, I'm old enough to think for myself, and name myself. And I'm not asking for much… just to hear me, and believe me for once, when I say this-' _

'_Sit down, boy-'_

'_You were wrong earlier. I am not your Jubei, and I can never be. My name, is Takahashi Takeda. And even if you don't want to lend me that recognition, or call me your own, I will always think of you as the only father I've ever had.'_

'_Takedaa-'_

He raised himself, and slashed the sword diagonally in powerful movements with both hands, causing his whole body to jump up with each slash. He pictured his father's dead, desecrated body, bleeding from his wounds in his mind's eye, and Takeda felt his rage take total control, the madness become a welcoming refuge.

Eventually his movements became reckless, and slurred, as he thought of his own intentions, voiced earlier to his horrified Grandmaster, before he stomped out from his audience in a brazen manner:

'_And believe me Master Hasashi… If I ever see that deadbeat scoundrel again in my life, I'll slit his throat myself, for everything he put me through…'_

CLANG!

Takeda's flying katana met with another blade in the dark, the resulting metallic noise jolting the young Shirai Ryu out from his dark reveries.

Cerulean eyes glowed a molten silver, as he felt the temperature suddenly drop again by a few degrees. One arm held out, while the other held the katana alert, he narrowed his eyes and tried to seek out his opponent – more than aware of the fact that he had let his guard down, and was now not alone.

A red apparition appeared - armoured, and of approximately the same stature as his own. It threw up its own weapon in the air as it flexed its arms, while the katana completed its rotation in a lazy arc, and returned to his hands. The ancestral sword glowed red from mended cracks, and in the pitch dark of the night, it reflected ominously, marred with crimson.

Takeda recognised the Sento, if not its wielder - and nearly voiced out his surprise.

Lightning and thundered flashed then once more – with a deafening roar, and a blinding flash that seemed to stretch eternities, illuminating everything in sight, as if caught in the middle of the day.

It was an apparition all right, and Takeda felt anger course through his veins as he slowly recognised to whom it belonged. A pale red glow emanated from the spirit, but despite the changed features, the katana and the blindfold gave away its identity…

He had seen it before – back in Skardu, and coastal Japan. So many years ago; it almost seemed like a distant dream - one that made him doubt his own mind for a small second.

It wasn't until the being spoke – the same calm, steady inflection of the voice that betrayed any amount of fear, or joy - that forgotten memories, words, sensations and emotions all came to fore in a startling manifestation; bringing to life all the pain Takeda had tried to bury all through the past eight years…

He felt nauseous all of a sudden, and the splitting migraine returned with a vengeance of its own.

"_Yes - It is me, son. But why stop now? Didn't you want to kill me?"_

* * *

"Where are you hiding, you bastard?! Come out and face me like a man!" Takeda screamed angrily, tears of frustration rolling down his eyes.

The pelting rain bled into his bloodshot eyes, but he dared not blink – lest this pathetic version of his weak father vanish before his eyes.

The moon overcame the dark clouds, and pale light allowed the young warrior to focus on his supposed enemy.

The apparition turned its head, and faced Takeda – the glowing red blindfolded gaze piercing in its silent judgement. It said nothing, and the young Shirai Ryu suddenly felt there was no need for words. He felt exposed stark to this being, all prior rage confused in the face of another internal storm.

He had something else coming.

"_Wield a katana with this many distractions raging through your mind, and you'll be dead before the opponent's strikes thrice." _

It raised the mended Sento once again, pointing the blade at Takeda, expression sombre, and utterly unreadable.

"_Try again, son."_

"I AM NOT _YOUR SON_!"

With a fiery cry, Takeda lunged towards him, his sword held high above his head in a splitting attack. The apparition deftly side-stepped, bringing the Sento in a graceful semi-circle, before the blades met, steel on steel. Takeda withdrew and tried again, bringing his sword from one side, then another, only to be met with strong blocking maneuvers, that always sent him tumbling back.

Spinning gracefully, the crimson apparition sliced its katana downward, cutting Takeda below the knee. Wincing with pain, Takeda fell onto the ground on the other knee. Within seconds, another quick blow struck, this time from the opposite direction - crashed against his hand, sending the Shirai Ryu's sword skidding several metres back.

Disarmed and on all fours, Takeda breathed heavily with teeth bared, feeling the sweat mix in with the raindrops as it poured down his back, his robes clinging tightly to his body. He patted down his knee, only to find that despite the tear in his clothing, there was no laceration, nor any blood from the supposed injury. The pain, moreover, also seemed to be abating to nothingness.

Wary, and breathless, Takeda glanced up at the spirit – watching the rain go through its translucent body, as he vaguely wondered if his father wasn't already dead, rotting in some ditch or elsewhere – or whether he was hallucinating entirely.

The apparition sheathed its sword, and crouched, so that it was face to face with the young fighter.

"_You can fight to survive, but you've yet to learn to rein in your thoughts in battle, Takeda. Focus. That's the only way you could truly inflict defeat." _

"I'll show _you_ defeat!" Takeda launched a fist straight at the apparition, only for it to block the punch, while grabbing the fighter's forearm, and twisting it harshly behind his back. The boy screamed with agony as he felt the ligaments in his elbow tear from the arm-lock.

The duo stayed in this position for several long seconds, until the pain disappeared entirely; the phantom of a father, inflicting phantom wounds that left no mark, nor any pain.

"_No - You are not ready, yet… Not for this, not for the future…"_

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Takeda roared back. The spirit unhanded him that second – and Takeda began to immediately check for injuries – again, finding none.

Kenshi's apparition did not give a reply. Instead, seated on its knees, it placed two gentle hands beside his temple. Despite Takeda's receding form, the feather-like grip compelled him to stop, almost paralysing in its touch.

"_It's all right… This will help you, but it will hurt a little…" _

And the fact that he spoke the words right into his mind, without moving his lips.

Takeda's eyebrows shot up in terror, and he tried to move away from the apparition – but the red glow from spirit-being had now spread from his hands, into his face – and his mind felt like it was being crushed under the weight of hydraulic pressures he had once read about, tearing his thoughts and memories, while his body remained stiff and powerless – thoroughly estranged from the torture on the mind.

"WHY?! LET GO OF ME—"

"_For you – your safety, your life, my son…"_

The words seemed familiar, and Takeda felt himself experience a vague sense of déjà vu. Like a haunted lullaby, a forgotten promise…

A moment later, the apparition withdrew its hands – gold and crimson sparking all around the duo. Takeda groaned with pain, only being able to muster a small cry as he felt his vision dotted with red and white spots, his heart thundering in his head as he weakly clutched his forehead. The effects of the spirit's … magik, Takeda presumed, began to wean off, but he was far too exhausted, both physically and emotionally to put up with anything further. He collapsed, his back to the apparition, his head rolling back onto the spirit's shoulder.

Kenshi's face, now smiling sadly, swam in his eyes, as his lids felt heavy, the black closing in on him. Takeda felt a cold caress on his cheek – before a voice rang in his mind:

"_We'll be together again, in flesh and blood, son… Only when you're ready… That is a promise..."_

The last Takeda remembered, was being hauled up on someone's shoulder, finding his place in the heart of darkness, before he slipped into complete unconsciousness.

* * *

Hanzo laid down the boy carefully at his futon, wiping his face with a rag, as Kenshi unbuttoned his dripping robe, took off his wet shoes and cast them aside, lest the student caught a cold. Takeda sighed with his eyes closed, indicating he was breathing normally – and both the Grandmaster and his blind ally sighed with relief, as they covered him in a warm blanket.

"Are you sure you were not too hard on him, swordsman?" asked Hanzo carefully, while silently disproving of Takeda's midnight antics, practicing during such a rainstorm after their argument.

Kenshi's eyebrows furrowed in contemplation, as he only had his silence to offer as a reply at first. Wiping his own brow, he inhaled deeply, and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his knees.

"I have never tried to blockade telepathy and telekinesis in anyone before – I had counsel from the Sento however, on how to do this…" He slowly shook his head in thought. "His telepathy comes across strong, like an enclosed fire. He would have torn himself apart without proper instruction on how to manage it. I think he will be fine – just a little lightheaded for a few days…"

"I see," Hanzo returned gruffly, as he took a seat on the opposite side of the sleeping student, facing Kenshi directly.

"Are you all right? You nearly passed out yourself, staying out from your body so long—"

"Spirit energy, Hanzo. It wasn't me out there, merely a projection. But equally taxing, all the same," Kenshi sighed himself, suddenly feeling exhausted after a long bout of travelling, compounded by the current ordeal.

"There is some food in the pantry. A simple meal – to be honest. As always, you came in without sending word of your arrival, so we don't have anything special prepared for you," Hanzo said with a small smile.

Kenshi let out a quiet chuckle – "Old habits die hard, Hanzo. This time though, I did not bring any unwanted guests to your door."

"Thankfully so – I'm shorthanded already, as you know."

The duo wholeheartedly agreed, laying grounds for a comfortable conversation much later. Hanzo exited a while later, to brew tea for both of them – leaving the father and son alone, after what seemed like an eternity.

'_Suchin, if only you could see him… He's grown so much - almost as tall as I am…'_

Kenshi's mouth lifted in a corner in a wistful smile, unseen tears pricking his eyes underneath his tattered blindfold, as he gently caressed his son's wet locks away from his face. Eventually, he too closed his eyes, and just reflected…

How wide was the chasm that separated them now? Deeper than the oceans… How far the distance in between them? A million miles – light years?

If only one could quantify it – give it a name, an indicator, a characteristic. Measure it in some way…

What if it was beyond such notions? Or worse – the damage irreversible? The space separating them an unending abyss, that he had lost his son, in the midst of it all…

That in a bid to protect him, he had lost everything…

Kenshi leaned back, and sighed tiredly. It was one thing to lament a decision or a choice in private, and quite another to confront the aftermath of one upfront.

'… _that deadbeat scoundrel…'_

'… _I'll slit his throat myself…'_

'…_I AM NOT YOUR SON!…'_

The echoing voices humiliated him in his own eyes, while the pain in his heart felt as if it had been stabbed by knives. The boy had yet to learn how acutely words could cut – or in his case, kill entirely.

No. He was not confronting anything. Just taking the backdoor out again, once more. In silence. In hiding – _'like a cowardly dog'_ \- precisely as his son had put earlier. An astute observer, just like his mother was…

He smelt the aroma of jasmine tea long before Hanzo eventually entered the room with it. Wordlessly, the ninja poured him a steaming cup – one that the swordsman graciously accepted with a bow, allowing the ceramic cup to warm his covered fingers.

"How long has it has been, Hanzo?" he asked after a long, heavy pause.

The Shirai Ryu grandmaster closely regarded his friend, and did not answer immediately. Without the blindfold, he would not have recognised the aging warrior. His hair streaked with gray, a patchy beard askew – and a gaunt-like face that was a shadow of his former, younger self.

To be able to grow old, to become closer to embracing death – and reunite with the departed. What a gift of life, Hanzo sighed inwardly – silently envious of Kenshi's sheer humanity.

"Eight years, Earthrealm-time," he answered soberly. "But much too long if you ask me, Kenshi."

Kenshi nodded, lost in thought. "How is he?"

Hanzo smiled as he saw in his old friend, despite the fresh creases on his face – the eerie resemblance to his student. The same narrow, but sharp jaw, straight nose, broad shoulders and height. He had no doubts the eyes behind the blindfold too, were Takeda's eyes, now fixated inquisitively on him.

"Your very reflection, swordsman."

Kenshi raised an eyebrow, his mouth curved in a skeptical smile. "Why does everyone tell me that?"

"You have reason to doubt his heritage?"

"No. But I seem to have lost every right to call him my own…"

The clap of distant thunder filled the small silence that fell in between them. Until Kenshi began, morose and with little effort to disguise his own pain -

"He hates me, doesn't he?"

Hanzo was caught off-guard at the question, as his heart softened at the sight of the distraught man, one who doubted his own fatherhood, and seemed to fail at keeping his own anxieties at bay, or even mundane the most basic of niceties.

"You have fallen silent, Hasashi," he noted softly after a while.

"Does it make a difference? You have probably read my mind," Hanzo answered, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"Telepathy, unfortunately, cannot open up your heart to me," Kenshi finally raised his head, and regarded Hanzo face-to-face. Like a man preparing himself for an ensuing battle – but he had no idea there was none coming his way.

The tables had been turned: the spectre felt nothing but _pity_ for the swordsman this night.

"Don't, Hanzo - as they say, every dog has its day. I'm merely waiting for mine," quipped Kenshi sharply in reply to the thought, with a knowing smirk. The underlying message clear – the ninja was not immune to the defeated telepath's mental surveillance.

Hanzo frowned gravely, finding no humour at this absurd game of cat and mouse. "Takeda, in many ways, was robbed of a childhood, Kenshi," he began carefully. "He is confused, angry – and he suppresses it all –"

"He lusts after patricide, Hanzo. I know that – you don't have to hide anything."

"And wouldn't you, if you were in his position?" Hanzo countered, eyes narrowing in accusation. "The boy had everything he had ever known and loved, his family, his clan, snatched from him – yet he persisted, and fought – and survived, Kenshi. Would you rob him of his anger at all that befell him too?"

The undertone, not voiced, not even thought in words within Hanzo's mind, struck clear to Kenshi – that not only was he responsible for Takeda's painful upbringing, but that he had robbed him again – of a father.

Accepting all blamely silently, Kenshi raised his head and steeled himself, before calming himself down.

"Anger, serves no purpose, Hanzo. In battle, it clouds judgement – elsewhere, it destroys the essence of life itself…" He made a fist of a gloved hand, as he spoke – letting his fist open and the rage evanesce into air, as if it was something that could be controlled.

"But my vengeance fuels me, Kenshi. It is my life – the reason for existence –"

"Anger, has nothing to do with vengeance, Hanzo. Vengeance, is about honour. Retribution. Anger, is merely self-gratification, in ways that detriment you, and yourself alone. The worst of one's enemies, whispering sweet nothings, right beneath the skin…"

Hanzo nodded as he took in the swordsman's words, quietly sipping his tea, as a comfortable silence fell in between them.

Kenshi sighed, and broke it, turning his head as he gravely regarded Hanzo:

"You must teach him to be calm, to use his reason, Hanzo… Cultivate his mind, think critically, and clearly. He can never go wrong, if he learns to control his emotions…"

Hanzo paused abruptly. "Kenshi, are you not here to take him back?"

He saw the storm of emotions raging on the swordsman's face – through the tight jaw, and tense shoulder muscles, the bending of the head in resignation, the frown lines beside his mouth. The battle fought and lost – the emotions losing out to reason, as visible as the sun in the sky.

"No. He isn't ready… Not for the truth, not yet…"

The Shirai Ryu Grandmaster felt a wave of relief wash over him, the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders – as he momentarily paused in surprise, at his own reaction to Takeda's staying.

"He is training to be Chujin, and well deserves to be. I have yet to see an adept as swift and brutal as he is in his duels," Hanzo nodded, as he briefly reflected on Takeda's technique and battle-prowess to his father, as well as his weaknesses. For some time, they discussed his fighting techniques, Kenshi's reminiscing of his own days as a young swordsman, garnering similar feedback until he ultimately, paid a very steep price for his mistakes.

"He is a proud fighter, the boy – an innovative one too," Hanzo countered logically, "but all he's ever known, is to fight so he could survive. If not that, then to gain knowledge, to perfect technique. And he has much to pride himself on, but he's got none of the arrogance you claimed to once have…"

Kenshi nodded in agreement, entirely: "He's got many of his mother's traits in that regard, and I'm thankful of that," he said slowly. "Patience… Kindness… Curiosity…"

Hanzo put his cup away, and sat up straighter. It was well past midnight now, the downpour had ceased somewhat, but dark clouds still blocked the light from the stars – casting the surrounding wilderness and hills in utter darkness.

Dawn, would chase it away, soon enough.

"But discipline, is key…" murmured Kenshi, more to himself than to his companion… "He needs to discipline himself…"

"We all do, one way or another," offered Hanzo, staring at the tea leaves in his now empty cup. "One cannot run away from their blood forever, Takahashi. His wounds will be cut open, again – the pain greater than ever now – but only then can he heal truly…"

"As will I…" Kenshi sighed softly, setting down his cup. "I may never figure out how to pay you back in this life, my friend…"

"The debt, is only mine to pay, swordsman."

Kenshi gently wagged a finger in denial, his head tilted towards Takeda as he slept, blissfully unaware of the happenings around him.

Hanzo took in the picture of the father and son, and felt the bittersweet moment arrest his own heart for a moment.

"One cannot run away from their blood forever, Kenshi. Just as I see you as the boy's true father, he will accept you as well; only in time…"

"The eyes that see can be deceived, Hanzo," replied Kenshi, feeling a vague sense of déjà vu – as if he had uttered the same words, in similar circumstances again, to someone – what seemed like a lifetime ago…

Kenshi paused before continuing: "But I have no doubt in my mind either – about who Takeda's true father is…"

Kenshi was oddly relieved the spectre had none of his telepathy. But he still felt he owed the Grandmaster an admission to what he truly felt: that until Takeda saw him as one, Kenshi's fatherhood was nothing but air. Meaningless words to fill for a hollow that would never fill out.

It all rested on this young, sleeping boy. For all the pain he inflicted on his child, Kenshi knew he was in many ways, greatly indebted to his own son too…

"I have been a stranger long enough to him – and I'll remain one, for as long as is required… It'll be easier that way… for both us…"

Hanzo paused, and closely regarded the grave expression on the swordsman's face, and the unspoken words that surrounded them, the despondency permeating from the defeated man. It was then, that he realised the extent of suffering Kenshi had gone through, and how profoundly the yearning for his son ran.

After all – it takes one to know one.

And perhaps more than ever that night, Hanzo felt how similar the swordsman was to him. How their griefs were congruent; the emotions that arrested them, basal, primal – utterly human.

Seeing how their meeting drew towards closure, the spectre interjected one last time – speaking in lieu for his student - knowing what painful truth that awaited him once his tutelage was complete.

"I have, a favour to ask of you – for your son's sake, Kenshi…"

The lengths a man has to go, for the sake of those close to his heart…

"Anything, Hanzo."

The ninja breathed deeply, before levelling a steady gaze the telepath's way. "You have spent your life fighting evil, and those who destroy innocent lives. But your vengeance against the Red Dragon, is not wholly your own."

"What do you mean, Hanzo?"

"Do not rob Takeda of his rightful vengeance against his mother's killers. Her death did not affect you alone – and the boy deserves to be among those who bring the Red Dragon to justice."

A small, awkward silence fell between them, until Kenshi let out a low, humourless laugh – as the Grandmaster frowned in disapproval.

"It all makes sense now, Hasashi," Kenshi answered, once his paltry mirth subsided. It had been in front of him, this whole time - the very reason why he had came so close, on multiple occasions, but always failed to eliminate the syndicate all these years…

"You understand vengeance perhaps far better than I do, Hanzo. Fate has shown me, time and time again, that I alone cannot uproot the evil of the Red Dragon by myself..." Then, after a thoughtful silence, he concluded in a dark tone - "My follies may be unforgivable to him, but for her sake, Suchin's son will not be derived of what rightly belongs to him..."

Hanzo folded his arms across his chest, and merely nodded in understanding.

Kenshi raised himself, so he was seated on his knees, as Takeda slept peacefully beside him. Caressing his son's hair, and patting him on the head one last time, the swordsman stood up to take his leave – with the spectre following suit.

With one hand on his shoulder, Kenshi handed a small memento in a hand, enclosing his palm on Hanzo's fists.

"In my clan, this – is earned after many a trials, Hanzo…" began Kenshi, his voice deep and low. "Give this to him, when you deem him worthy to become Chujin."

And with a quiet goodbye, he walked out again, into the devilish night, much like one would walk into a battlefield.

Hanzo saw the retreating figure, never moving his eyes from him, until the darkness swallowed his silhouette entirely. Only then, did he glance down at his closed fist, regarding the item in hand.

An old, folded white sash, with the Takahashi emblem of a roaring, crimson dragon as its sole, ancestral adornment. One of the swordsman's precious few possessions, representing his own clan of warrior-kings.

A hot flush flooded Hanzo, as it dawned on him what Kenshi had done in the quiet moments before departing – handed him an ancient heirloom to give to his son, in his place.

And in doing so – establishing, and giving consent to Hanzo's secret paternal sentiments – in truth and effect. It was not a relinquishment of a claim of fatherhood – but an acceptance, that Hanzo Hasashi was an equal to Kenshi in that regard, if not ranked higher than him.

An honour, conferred in silence, because no words could do justice to it.

Hanzo smiled, as he quietly whispered to the night - "A fitting memento, indeed, swordsman."

* * *

Phew! Glad that's over :)

So Kenshi secretly does meet his son, in a way - to help him past the outburts of telepathic energy.. I felt this was necessary, to develop both Hanzo and Takeda.. And also, because I refuse to believe Kenshi would not have tried to meet Takeda even once during his time at the Shirai Ryu. This is just my interpretation of how it'd go down..

But of course, our angsty young angry man is not yet ready. I have zero experience writing angry young men, let alone those with abandonment issues - so special thoughts on what you all made of this would be appreciated! (I fear Takeda may be a bit too OTT here.. But then, he's only sixteen here, and boys struggle with emotions as it is :/)

As for Hanzo, well... Hanzo wins in this arc :) He's fully validated, in his thoughts - and Kenshi conveys that to him in an unspoken manner.. as I feel how seasoned warriors would convey stuff. I mean... IDK man, I tried X_X

I don't have any special references for this, apart from the fact that I had the Sky Temple location in MKX on my mind as I wrote Takeda's fight scene.. What a lovely stage... :')

**As always - anything you liked, anything you hated, or anything you feel could be done better - please click the review button and let me know how this was! Thanks for reading, enjoy! :D**


	16. Of Roads to Redemption I

Hola amigos! Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year, Chinese New Year - everything! :D

I'm back with the final arc of this series, but its a MEGA ARC - Probably another 5-6 chapters at least. And it features a mini-arc as well (the Suchin/Kenshi romance arc, aka, THE ONE I'M DYING TO WRITE! XD) .. How Takeda and Kenshi reconnect with all the distance in between them... (sobs at her babies)

Honestly guys, I've come to realize something over the past few weeks, slaving away at grad school. Creation itself is a source of joy – and nothing makes me as happy as writing about my favourite dweebs :') So I'm going to try and update and work on this as much as I can - and not stop to wait for term breaks as I used to.

Now onto the replies to my lovely reviewers! :'D

**PinkRedRose –** thanks so much! I'm glad he resonated with you, he's a toughie to write! :) And you reviewed twice! ^_^ Thanks again – I don't know if I'll get much chance to write about the Red Dragon though, I'll certainly try to incorporate them more. And be part of HaoNation – feel the Hao inside :P (It's a long-running tumblr joke :P)

**BrutusPrimus –** thank you my dear friend! :D

**Westcoast Witchdoctor –** Awww doc! Thanks for the wonderful words ^_^ Realistically, Takeda does have a lot to be angry for – even if it was no one's fault. Timing was everything, and at his most vulnerable time, he had to suffer the loss of – well technically both his parents. Sure he loves Hanzo, and likewise, but just in order to make sense of the world around him, Taks has to make someone a scapegoat for everything (enter: Kenshi) – and it'll be a while till he becomes more rational about it all.. I wish we'd seen more of this too – but well, I'll try my best to deliver here! :)

**PunkRoseBlitz –** PHEW! It's so hard to think like a teenager… esp. because even when I was a teenager, people would often remark on how mature I was compared to my peers.. (23 going on 40, I'm tellin ya :P) . I'm glad you liked the update – hopefully you'll like this one too :)

**Poe's Daughter –** THE MATRIARCH APPROACHETH! :'D Seriously, you're the lead-writer-leader here xD Your reviews and vote of confidence means so, SO much to me, PD – words cannot express how I cherish your feedback! And I actually feel proud of myself is my stupid stories helped you at a difficult time – you are a noble warrior, and full of grace – and I am in awe of your strength (as we discuss on Tumblr as well!) =) It's interesting how you bring up Kenshi's childhood, because there are so many gaps there – I'm going to try and explore that era via 'telling', but also equally important, how he got his shit together after becoming blind. That will serve a catalyst to the very end.. And as for the issue of fatherhood, you've captured exactly all that I wanted to convey! It's so fluid, you have a reluctant adoptive father in Hanzo, and a cynical, coward but duty-bound biological father in Kenshi. And that's why Hanzo does all the things a 'dad' does – that bond with Takeda is unbreakable in so many ways. As for Kenshi, who grew up in an orphanage, he is clueless as to what it means to be a father, so he's using piecemeal ideas to frame it all together – justifying everything by 'protection', etc. They're both going to grow up a lot now.. I can't wait to read what you have to say about the remaining arcs.. But for now – please know that your reviews make my LIFE. NO KIDDING. And we all love you so much 3 (Also, thanks so much for the advice for this update! 3)

**Iceangelmkx –** The true Kenshi aficionado! 3 Thanks so much for your words! Hope you like this too :)

**Hell-On-Training Wheels –** Aww helly, I wish I could ditch my degree and go into writing full-time.. (But alas, my ideas come at a glacial pace, and I am very much uninspired for most part to turn something like this into a full-time occupation).. Nevertheless, I agree with you.. Writing all this makes me realize how Hanzo is the silent hero in all of this, doing everything without question or criticism, and helping Kenshi and Takeda both in everything… Y U KILL HIS FAMILY BI HAN YYYYY! **Wails** Thanks so much for your lovely comments! 3

**Guest –** I know right! Probably bumbling about banging into Mavado and tripping over his robes :P

So just a little info before we start - I realized that there are a lot of stories based on Kenshi's experience being blinded, but very little work on how the Sento trained him, and he got over his handicap. So at the beginning of each update (usually), I will integrate some element of Kenshi's re-training experience, and try to merge that with what Takeda's going through... Hopefully it'll turn out okay *fingers crossed*

Also, I recently read 2 AMAAAAAZING books by Elif Shafak - 40 Rules of Love, and The Bastard of Istanbul. Not really using them for inspiration, apart from the word 'bastard'. You'll read that a lot in this update - just a heads up :P

Now onto the story! :D

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one apart from the crazy ideas in my head.**

* * *

**The Takahashi Family Saga**

**Of Roads to Redemption**

**I**

* * *

**House of Pekara,**

**Primorsky Krai District, Russia.**

**Winter, 198X.**

_He walked along the path, his head bent low – pain piercing his eyes, burning his irises from the inside out. His tears hot like molten lead, gushing - exacerbating his wounds instead of cooling them. It was utterly dark in the cave, though he could not have known. Kazimir, was still unaccustomed to his own sightlessness._

'_You overreached, Kazimir. Now you must face your destiny…'_

_Kazimir's head shot up at the voice, as he looked frantically about, swinging his neck from side to side – trying to find a semblance of light, of life – anything but this unforgiving, unending sea of gray. The voice spoke from within the void around him – a sentient being surrounding him from all sides, consuming him. _

_The weight of the sword grew heavier, in his hands. He licked his parched lips, fear – of himself, of the sword, and the vast unknown, crippling his thinking._

"_C-come out! Wherever you are – face me!" he cried out, his frantic anxiety shrouding whatever remained of his bravery._

'_Why should we, when you cannot dare face yourself? This is your true face, Kazimir… Do you see it now? The price of a heinous betrayal.'_

"_What sorcery is this?! What madness is this?! I can't see – oh, my eyes! Give me back my eyes!"_

_The massive cave echoed his voice back to him, each sound more pitiful than the one before – begging and pleading, praying and grovelling in woeful misery. _

_The silence hung heavy in the dark, soundless chamber. Kazimir strained his ears to hear a sound, any sound – the fluttering of a bat's wing, the trickle of water into this watery grave. Yet all he heard was his own ragged breathing, and his fearful heart pounding at the base of his throat. All he smelt was the stale air from a bygone era. All he felt, was the heaviness of the blade of Sento – it's cool steel inviting and tantalizing, even from beneath the leather coverings of its scabbard._

_And the eyes saw nothing. Not even the darkness around him, nor the one in his soul._

_Crashing onto his knees, the young swordsman drew the Sento from its scabbard, laying the sword in front of him as the rare artefact that it was. Raising it to his face, he lowered his burning eyes onto the welcome cold surface. His tears burned and sizzled, evaporating from the contact with the sword – and that is when he realized another scent he had almost become accustomed to: the stench of his own burning flesh._

"_Help me, please… I can't see… How can I go on…"_

'_Let this your first lesson, swordsman. You cannot make it out of this cave, without learning. And before you learn, you must unlearn. Recognize, who you are – and what you've become.'_

_In the womb of darkness, the bastard son of a bastard father realized his destiny – and Kenshi was born._

* * *

**Classified Location,**

**Texas, USA.**

**April, 2009.**

If put to test, Lieutenant-General Sonya Blade could count off the summary, details and impact of every mission conducted under her leadership within the past fifteen years – as a woman of her capabilities well should.

But when asked to count off the times she truly realized her daughter was a grown-up, she would fall short. As a disconnected mother, even with her capabilities, well should.

It dawned on Sonya with a glaring finality that evening, as she leaned against the kitchen counter of her house, still clad in uniform and beret, arms crossed and chin lowered into the chest – of the true _amount_ of time she had lost to her work. Of being absorbed in missions protecting Earthrealm, protecting nameless civilians and faceless bodies, without thought nor care of her own daughter. Of inundating herself in yet more work to drown out the tragedy of her divorce – preferring to hunt down the Black Dragon than reassure her distraught daugh-

'_Enough of the guilt-game. I know the drill,' _thought Sonya bitterly to herself, biting the inside of her cheek as she heard Cassie's soft footfalls upstairs, as she packed for the Academy.

She had trained Cassie well. She and Johnny _both_ – Sonya corrected. The soldier had no doubts about her daughter's combat skills – and despite her savvy, Cassie followed a disciplined, strictly regimented lifestyle that left no room for error when it came to training. But throwing a punch or landing a kick did not make a good soldier. Learning to take orders, to work under pressure and sacrifice readily – that, was the essence of becoming a good soldier.

Thriving in battle. Making every drop of blood count. Protecting your brothers-in-arms, to your last breath. Doing it, because it was your duty. Not because you wanted to please your mother or earn her affection.

Sonya found herself sighing in resignation, realizing with a pang of regret how she had deliberately carved out a path for her only child, without even realizing it.

'_Of course I know, Cass. I know this drill so well. I did it long before you were born.'_

An image flashed in front of her eyes - a young, bright-eyed cadet fresh out of the Academy, ready for her first mission. With eyes that gleamed with excitement even behind the strict set of mouth, toneless answers and upright salutations to higher-ranked military personnel. Eager to succeed, eager to please.

And all for just one person. Colonel John Milton Blade. Sonya's father.

"Cassie, your ride's here!" Sonya called out, eyes closed as she tried to shake off a sense of latent nausea.

Cassie cursed out loud, and then swore in a frustrated whisper for being loud before – all was audible to Sonya through the light wooden flooring. "Just two minutes!" came a muffled reply.

Sonya gave a wistful half-smile at the response, straightening out the napkins beside her into neat piles. She took twenty minutes to get ready on normal days, picking and rejecting outfit after outfit. And here she was, claiming she'd be done packing for a six-month stint within two minutes.

Sonya's eyes suddenly widened as a cross flashed in her mind.

'_Cassie. Is she even ready for the military?' _

If only she could tell Cassie about how similar they both were. That in spite of all the missed recitals, birthdays, and prom-night – she knew things about her daughter that only a mother would. That no matter how many hours a day she played her role as a soldier, Sonya could never - _will_ never – forget that her love for her ran far deeper than anything she had ever known.

'_She doesn't have to do this…'_

Unknowingly, Sonya's mind fixated on a photo-frame hanging on the wall in front of her – the same picture she had in her office, and carried in her briefcase whilst travelling. It was a rare photo of the three of them together – Johnny, Sonya and their daughter. At some beach in Puerto Rico, when rocked by a tumultuous fight, all witnessed by a four-year old Cassie, the guilt-ridden couple had decided to go on a family vacation to rekindle old ties, and ease their withdrawn daughter out from her little shell. Little had they known, that first fight was the first of very many, each more jarring, more cruel than the one before – transforming Cassie's parents from loving people to possessed demons ready to tear each other's throat out.

But not in the picture. Amidst the splashing waves, little Cassie was all smiles, making peace signs at the camera, while Sonya held a hand over her brow, preening out into the distance with squinted eyes. Johnny, as usual, holding the camera backwards in an attempt to take – what was it… a _selfie_ with a hand-sized camera; with his aesthetically-perfect smile that showed off all of his dimples and none of the wrinkles. Fake as hell – except in the polaroid. No, he was happy then. Sonya knew his genuine smiles as well as his fake ones.

They were happy once. Not a happy 'family', per se – given the rifts that would tear them apart eventually. But yes, happy 'together' in their innocently naïve belief of a better tomorrow. The tomorrow that never came.

And here was Cassie – grown up all too quickly, too suddenly – more than ready to partake in her own battles.

'_She wants this though… As badly as I did - back in my day… I know that hunger…'_

Next to the picture were the various pictures Sonya had collected over time – meeting with foreign dignitaries, conducting camps, aiding refugees, along with pictures of Cassie winning countless tournaments, posing with trophies – her father's fake smile, and Sonya's own gleaming eyes, glinting with a private, crazed glee one experiences with the taste of sweet victory.

"Uhh… Mom, Roy isn't here." Clad in a dark T-shirt and combat fatigues and a duffel bag at her shoulder, Cassie already looked like a cadet on an off-day.

'_No - she's as ready as she'll ever be. I know it.'_

Sonya jingled the car keys in reply, and straightened up. With a few bold strides, Lieutenant Blade was out the doorway, leaving a confused Cassie standing bewildered by the unnecessary attachment her mother was showing.

Flawed as she was, Cassie understood whenever Sonya wanted to spend more time with her. As always, words failed her, and so these little indications were all that came from Sonya to show what Cassie meant to her. And the young fighter was fine with the arrangement – it wasn't attention she sought from her mother, not anymore. Rather, recognition. Acceptance.

That would come in time.

For now, Cassie walked out the door with an impish grin.

"Wipe that grin off, young lady. I'm driving," barked Sonya tonelessly as she slid into the driver's seat.

"Love you too, mom," grumbled Cassie under her breath.

'_Love you more, kid. Always.'_

* * *

**The Destroyed City,**

**Classified Location.**

**April, 2009.**

It was a struggle to not react on instinct. To not throw up one's forearms and adopt a defensive posture. To not think of a strategy to counter-attack, or execute it. To not connect with the Sento as it sat tantalizingly at his back, and send toward his attacker, slicing him in half in one blow.

Yet… Never had the swordsman felt as much joy as he did, at the receiving end of a total beat-down.

Far more than defending himself, the swordsman tried his hardest to not muster a smile, or give off an indication that he was tearing up behind his blindfold at their conflictual reunion.

Until a wallop of a punch, packing from youthful energy, straight to the cheek sent him wheeling backwards, making his head spin.

'_It's your own son. You did this. You earned his wrath. The least you can do is face it like a man!' _

It was not the Sento. The Sento rarely talked to Kenshi anymore, the once comforting whispers of his ancestors were all silenced now into an ever-present hum at the back of his head. White noise at most – yet the power of his clan materialized in battle; armoured, menacing and thirsty of blood.

But not today. As soon as the fight began, Kenshi had drawn the Sento from its scabbard telekinetically, and signalled it across the road, where it embedded itself vertically in a block of concrete – far from his fuming son. And Hanzo; an oasis of calm within the storm. Kenshi felt the ninja's ardent gaze on the two of them, and did not require telepathy to know that Hanzo rooted for his student. His proverbial son, if not a literal one.

Hell, even the swordsman rooted for Takeda as he made a bloody mess out of him.

Kenshi's arms went up, palms faced towards Takeda to drive the point home: open surrender. He was not here to fight – he was done fighting everything now.

He had sensed Takeda pause, panting as he followed the sword's path, then warily eying the defeated stance – and then with a war-cry, had begun punching the older man's body. Kenshi had blocked the first few, but the boy had quickly worked through his defences – and now the blind father was too guilt-ridden to defend himself further.

'_Let it all out, son…'_

After seemingly eons, Kenshi now thought and guided himself. Just as he now compelled himself to forsake all his instincts and stand tall in front of his son. Arms akimbo at his side and head partially bowed, Kenshi dared not raise a finger against Takeda. He did not need to read his mind to know of the grieving rage he had unleashed with his presence.

'_Strong,'_ thought Kenshi to himself in between moments of clarity, in order to distract from the throbbing pain in his chest, face and his one bad knee. _'He's certainly strong. Maybe even better at hand-to-hand…'_

A swift, strong kick to shin caught the swordsman off-guard, sending him crashing onto his knees before Kenshi could even cry out in pain. A split-second later, Takeda's foot whipped across his face in a spinning roundhouse, powerful enough to render him airborne for a few seconds, as he went flying to the side from the impact.

Kenshi landed face-first with a cry, rolling to a side as he felt a gash from his forehead bleed warmly on the ground. He pondered faintly if his own punches or kicks carried as much power – and felt sorry for his opponents for a brief, fleeting moment.

'_How does his swordsmanship fare though…'_

Huffing, panting, Takeda stomped his way to the swordsman, even as he lay face down on the tarmac, slowly attempting to get up from the ground. Waves of anger radiated from him, marring his aura – a hidden inferno manifest only to the spiritual eye; where the flames consumed all humanity, all respect, all memories…

"Now get up - I want to knock you down again!"

Kenshi felt the air vibrate, a hint of a swish as he assumed Takeda had raised his hand again for yet another strike. He clenched his eyes shut behind the blindfold, flinched and waited for the blow with his heart thundering in his ears, and sweat drenching his clothes.

A blow that never came. Hanzo called out, stopping his student dead in his tracks:

"TAKEDA – CEASE!"

Grunting with exertion, yet barely hiding his annoyance, the Chujin paused – chest heaving, arm still raised to strike the bastard of a father who sired this bastard son.

"Stay out of this Master Hasashi!"

Hanzo marched over, so that he stood like a mediator between the two – arms folded behind his back, a silent spectator throughout the scene until he felt his prized student giving into the darkest folly known to man – avarice. Overreaching for revenge, without any thought of the consequences.

"You may be Chujin, but you are no master of me, Takeda," Hanzo warned in reply.

Fists clenched, and vision hazed with red, Takeda reluctantly lowered his arms, eyes blazing with fire. Kenshi raised himself on his knees, silently thankful to the former spectre for buying him enough time to catch his breath and regain composure.

Seeing his student comply, Hanzo continued – speaking lowly, but firmly. "Kenshi did not abandon you. He brought you here for your protection-"

"Protection from what?!" snapped the young fighter.

"From those who murdered your mother."

It was said now. The words, the painful reality of their separation – all exposed after being hidden for a decade, buried underneath the mountainous grief he had shouldered silently. He and Takeda both, Kenshi reminded himself – in very different ways and for very different reasons.

And as he did years ago, it was Hanzo again who unburdened the swordsman once more – by protecting his child, by protecting the truth.

Kenshi was once more, indebted to the spectre.

"She…" Takeda paused, eyes widening as his voice took an incredulous tone. "She died in an accident…"

"That is the story I asked Master Hasashi to tell you.." The swordsman shook his head, slowly getting up to his feet, finding his voice amidst the swarm of thoughts that rendered his throat thick with emotion. "But in truth, your mother was killed by Red Dragon assassins."

Anger and muted raged married with confusion, and a burning dawn pierced through Takeda – his worst fears realized morphing into an even darker reality, all realized after a decade of being fed on lies. The muscles at the back of his neck become taut with tension, his mind spinning with questions, bleeding from reopened wounds.

"I was the target…" Kenshi breathed, his voice almost dropping to a whisper. "Suchin was the victim…"

Takeda sprang like lightning, grabbing Kenshi by the front of his armour and snarling obscenities at a hair's breadth from his face. Telling him it was his fault. As if it were a revelation for the swordsman, who had spent the past decade grappling with the enormity of his sins and failures.

And with the quiet, rational way that was very much unlike Hanzo, the Shirai Ryu grandmaster detailed simply, how the swordsman had spent his life fighting evil like the dishonourable Red Dragon – without even thinking how deep Kenshi's enmity ran with the very word and concept of honour itself. As if the mere statement of his convictions could instill any faith in the boy for what his father truly was.

With a frustrated cry, Takeda unhanded his father, leaving the latter's mind reeling with a peculiar shame – a self-loathing that could not be articulated in words. A sense of shame that stripped away all the goodness of his soul, leaving behind a shaky husk.

Kenshi knew who he was, and felt no need to hide behind pretenses. But Hanzo's narrative, no matter how weak, was comforting. At that point, the fiercely independent swordsman realized how dependent he had become on Hanzo's words – all in order to save face. It ran against everything the swordsman believed in – an unforgettable ode to his desperation.

"You shouldn't have hidden the truth…" came a teary whisper from the boy, who had turned away from the both of them. The low note tugged at Kenshi's heartstrings, though he found himself shaking his head at the simplistic, emotional appeal. Like a young child, his fragile innocence betrayed the harshness of reality. And unknowingly, it offered a glimpse into his inner-most thoughts – Takeda was, in many ways, still a child. And when he loved, he did so deeply and unconditionally, as any child would.

"You would have gone after your mother's killers unprepared – I could not risk that…"

A statement that barely concealed his own pain. _'I couldn't lose you, too…' _Kenshi had no idea if he would ever be able to convince his son of his sentiments.

Takeda exhaled a shaky breath he had held for too long, pinching the bridge of his nose, and fighting tears at the thought of his mother, killed brutally by assassins…

It wasn't fair to the Chujin, but the swordsman knew a way to distract his son – and move swiftly to why he reappeared in his life in the first place. He had battled everything, borne the weight of the world and its griefs, all alone. He needed his son now, as any father did – but now, to protect the Takahashi legacy, to avenge his mother…

To save himself.

"Master Hasashi has perfected your fighting skills." … _'Now it is time to complete your training…'_

* * *

**Tibetan Plateau, China.**

**Midnight**

Takeda's face had been wrought into a frown, jaw tight and eyes narrowed the moment they had departed from the Destroyed City. With his meager belongings in a small, worn backpack, he trudged through the wilderness, following his father's—no, _his_ lead, yet knowing he far from trusted the blind swordsman.

His mannerisms had changed, along with his armour, Takeda noticed. His footsteps were a lot more measured, careful – yet relaxed. Especially from his posture, Takeda could tell the swordsman was relaxed – none of the rigid, ram-rod straight-back he had seen in his childhood – wound up with tension like a coiled spring. As he mulled over the past, the Shirai Ryu was able to put together the pieces of the puzzle together – all the gaps in his knowledge of the swordsman, his relationship with Suchin, and the mysterious guys who had followed them to the ends of the realm.

'_Kenshi found out somehow, that this Red Dragon clan were coming for him – for whatever reason. And they targeted Mother and I, just to get to him… That's why she sent me away like that – and told me to follow whatever he said…'_

Takeda looked at the back of his father's head, watching him maneuver like an expert even in this part of the world. As if he knew every step of the way – maybe always had. He deftly touched the wild bushes around him, occasionally pressing two fingers to his forehead in an attempt to navigate. An unusual man, with an unusual demeanor – vacillating from battle-ready warrior to an abstract thinker.

'_That day in Japan… He told me once his cover was blown… So he was a fugitive on the run, with a young boy to take care of…'_

Takeda's mind reeled to the childhood incidence – his first contact with murder. Seeing Kenshi take on multitudes of possessed men, neatly slicing of an older man's head. Inwardly, he cringed at the memory – and tried to shake the image off of his mind.

'_Then, through Vietnam, Tibet, Nepal, Pakistan… he ran all over the place – perhaps trying to confuse his pursuers? Until we reached the Shirai Ryu compound… When he must have realized living on the run was no way for me to grow up…'_

His mood immediately darkened at the thought, black clouds raging his mind even as the night sky glittered like midnight silver, the moon and the stars lending their light to the travellers.

'_Or so he says…'_

Takeda hardly believed he let an invalid lead him like this. Who knows how many other lies and deceit he was capable of. Yet Master Hasashi had wanted him to go on this journey. To learn new skills, expand his artillery.

The mere thought of spending time with _him _bought a sour taste to his mouth. His palms broke out with sweat, and he felt an undeniable need to punch, pummel something – just to clear his head.

Part of him wanted to direct his anger and simply throttle the blind man, kill him for good, leave him in a dump to rot somewhere exactly as _he_ had ten years ago.

But a part – a small part of him dared, and wondered: if what he said was true, then what were the Red Dragon truly after, to tear his family apart like this. How could he stop them?

And then of course, there was the matter of telepathy – were the whispers and visions he experienced merely a manifestation of his telepathy? Were there any more powers to impart? How powerful was he exactly? And how powerful was Kenshi, as an enemy?

As much as he hated him and wanted to distance himself from the blind swordsman, Takeda loathed to admit that his father did have the answers to most of the questions. And with that immediate realization came a wave of self-hatred – how could he think of _him_ like that? Had he forgotten already of those early nights at the Shirai Ryu compound – how Takeda would scream into his pillow and cry himself to sleep? Had he forgotten already how, for the first few weeks, all the boy thought was that it was something he had said, something he had done that upset his father so much that he left without goodbye?

Combing through the memory of the precious few days they had shared, going over every single word, whisper, action, reaction that somehow seemed offensive, even though Takeda had never meant it any of it.

The Grandmaster, though he loved him in his own way, was never to show affection. Pride, yes, but no affection. And to a grieving eight-year old, who only wanted to be understood, only wanted to be held and comforted, had no one left to turn to. It took him days to be able to make friends with others, to open up to others without appearing weak…

Abandoned at the hour of need. Just as he had abandoned his mother…

It was all _his _fault.

"Kenshi. You can call me Kenshi."

Takeda flashed an angry look at his father's way, noticing the face of his deserter for the first time after their meeting - the lines beside his mouth, deep hollows under his cheekbones from aging. He looked more like a scholar, than a swordsman.

But the old bastard had been in his mind for too long.

"Get out of my head, right now," threatened Takeda lowly, his tone quivering with rage.

Kenshi smirked. A subdued, but unbearably smug smirk. Takeda wanted to rip his face off with his bare hands.

"I don't need to be in your head, to know what you're thinking, son. And ouch."

"Don't you dare call me _son_! You have no right!" snarled Takeda, pointing a finger at the swordsman's way, as he stopped.

Kenshi paused and turned to regard him, as if looking at him through his blindfold. Underneath the pale moonlight, the mere image was eerie and daunting – making his skin crawl. But with a resigned sigh, Kenshi nodded his head.

"You are right. I don't."

And with that, he faced the front again and marched on the path. Registering the small victory, Takeda straightened himself, and followed in turn – almost dismissing his father's arrival notice until he finally stepped onto the landing.

He had no idea which side of the border they were in, but the sight was breath-taking – the mighty Himalayas surrounding them from all sides, majestic conifers swaying with the night-time breeze – glistening silkily under the brilliant light of the moon. But most astounding, was the sky above him – the canopy of the gods' abode. Deep, deep blue, with millions of stars of varying shades, splotches of milky-white galaxies – and dividing the sky, the Milky Way itself; bold, contrasting, the cradle of life.

The Shirai Ryu fighter was so immersed by the sights around him, he barely heard his father address him.

"Takeda, look up - face the sky. Tell me, what do you see?"

"Stars. Millions of them. Scattered along a band of light," he breathed in awe as he took in the nature's beauty. All before his tone turned cynical, arrogant: "The universe, Kenshi. I see everything."

The sod was blind, Takeda gloated silently. How appropriate for him to beg everyone around to describe what place, what sights were around him. Pathetic, to say the least.

The swordsman shook his head, frowning with disapproval.

"No. You cannot. If you think that, then you are as fallible, as blind as I am."

"Give it a rest, old man. I'm not in the mood for a lecture."

A silence hung heavy in between the duo, who had now seated themselves on flattened rocks, merely taking in the majesty of the scenery around them. Several long moments passed before the swordsman spoke again.

"Through our travels, you'll come across many more sights like these – each more glorious than the one before… But just like the stars in the sky, we will come across a variety of people – usually more enemies than allies. In kombat, know that I will be your ally – as long as you're under my protection, no harm will come to you."

Takeda scoffed, disbelieving. "Our travels? I'm not here to stay, Kenshi. Just teach me what you have to, and I'll go my way, you go yours. And I don't need you – I survived the whole blood kode mess; I know how to protect myself."

"Oh, I do not doubt your fighting abilities one bit – but there is more to fighting than just survival. And telepathy is not a fighting maneuver that can be learned and perfected in a few days," the swordsman returned, levelling a stern gaze toward his son, even as the latter continued to ignore him, facing the horizon.

"So you're saying that I'm stuck with you for a while now, is it?" Takeda deadpanned, before groaning with ire.

"For better or for worse."

"How does telepathy even work? How will you train me?"

"Meditation, is one way – but it is too simplistic. A mere first step. You have to open up your spiritual self, and let the world transform you. Connect with the unseen, unheard or unwritten – root yourself in the present as you are uprooted from everything else in the world. Becoming a student of life, of the universe itself-" he tilted his head to a side, a skeptical smile framing his face: "None of which you can accomplish, if you already claim to see everything the world has to offer."

"There is only pain, and suffering in the world, Kenshi. Betrayal and lies. That's what we're _all_ founded on," Takeda shot accusatorily, narrowing his eyes as he silently implicated his father's actions in his words, without saying them. He flicked a buzzing insect away from the front of his face, and returned back to the sky, now scowling at the heavens above.

"If you say so, young man," Kenshi smiled an understanding smile, as if he genuinely believed what the Shirai Ryu fighter. "As we travel through the realms, you will face challenges – physical and spiritual, testing your knowledge of yourself, and your limitations. That will teach you far better than any instructor can…"

"And what, after that?"

"I have a contact in the Special Forces – General Blade. The OIA plans to form a hybrid team, representing different factions, the next generation of defenders. You will represent the Shirai Ryu – fighting to protect Earthrealm, as we all did before you."

Takeda nodded. That meant he would still be in touch with the Shirai Ryu, while fighting to protect the realm – exactly what Hanzo had taught him. The arrangement would work perfectly.

Kenshi sighed deeply, turning his face to the mountains for several moments, before he finally turned to his son – his face deliberately devoid of any emotion, his voice soft, but matter-of-fact: "Takeda, before we begin our journey, there are a few things you need to know, and maybe in time - I can prove myself to you – maybe…"

The young fighter let out an irritated breath, raised a skeptical eyebrow, knowing it was just another mouthful of words his father had prepared to make himself the victim somehow – shift the blame and continue on, exquisitely unaware of the damage he had wreaked in his wake.

"Just get to the point."

"I sense your anger, your disgust… And you will learn in your time, that our paths have been similar in a lot of ways. Irrespective of it all, know that everything I ever did was for you – your safety, your life. I had no choice, then."

Takeda's eyes widened, a strange feeling taking hold of his chest, pinching his heart, and leaving him breathless – while the mind reeled back to recall the words that seemed so familiar, yet so alien at the same time. Uttered to him in a moment of confidence, of comfort – even love… Yet where, by whom…

The failure to recall exacerbated his mood – spawning a headache after what seemed like years to the young fighter.

"Save it, Kenshi."

The swordsman held up an annoyed finger, irked at being interrupted. "You can treat me as a guide, or a teacher if it helps – but know that to me, you will always be my son, for all it means. And once this is all over, if you still truly want me gone, I will honour your wishes, without question."

"Well, isn't this typical of you, dear _father_?" mocked Takeda bitterly. "Having the exit strategy planned out already, just in case you get bored, or needed a timeout again. All these years – and you haven't changed one bit."

"What happened all those years ago, was indeed my doing," answered Kenshi, quietly but with firmness. "But how we end up, will be yours. Be at ease, son – we do this on your terms now."

Even though he felt like shouting at his father, Takeda suddenly felt exhausted – as if he had finished years' worth of work all in just one day, and he didn't have any more energy to deal with his delusional father that night. The mild headache he was suffering from, now morphed into pounding drums in his head. All while his persistent irritation gnawed away at his resolve like termites.

"You know what – just… just stop it, okay? Stop talking."

The swordsman turned away, taking a seat on the ground, knees on elbows, as he rested his back on the stones – exhausted, yet relieved at the outcome. Whatever it was.

At the corner of his eye, Takeda saw him tilt his head, and mumble something about setting camp. The fighter offered no reply, merely wrapping his arms around his torso to fight off the sudden chilly gust of wind. He then heard sounds of rock hitting rock, a spark and a small cackle of fire – painting the pristine blue landscape with a warm, orange hue.

They ate their rations quietly, huddling close to the flames for warmth – each consumed by their own thoughts, drained of energy to have another verbal spar. But it wasn't until Takeda settled beside the fire, ready to sleep till he voiced his curiosity – much to his own surprise – that had been pricking him like a thorn the moment they had arrived at the plateau.

"You know, you asked me what I saw just now. What about you? Do you see anything at all, or is it all just black?"

"Gray," returned Kenshi, nonchalant, as he neatly folded away his armor, and unstrapped the Sento from his back, without turning to face his son. "Neither black or white. A true reflection of the world we inhabit."

Takeda nodded, but offered no reply. Until the swordsman spoke again, his voice so morose that it shocked the young fighter, dislodging him from the embrace of slumber, lurking near within him.

"I see her, though. All the time, now. In my dreams, in my conscience, in my darkness…"

"My mother? As a spirit in your vision?" Takeda asked, beside himself with surprise – and his first glimpse of the true extent of his father's spiritual vision. The thought raced quickly to a dream – a hope, that perhaps one day, he too would reunite with his mother - and see her once again, in spirit. The thought evanesced entirely, leaving behind specks of hope, but a cruel sense of reality – the brunt of which had been borne by his unsuspecting mother. "You were never really worthy of her," he taunted.

Kenshi ignored his last comment, though he paused, seated with his back to Takeda. "Not a vision, Takeda. I learned to recognize her everywhere - in the trees, the grass, the sky… As the universe itself," Kenshi turned his head from the sky above, cocking his head to a side, as he regarded his son. "Exactly as how I now see you."

Takeda rolled his eyes with revulsion at the unfeeling, untrue and unwanted comment – changing the topic immediately: "When do we start training?"

Kenshi placed the sheathed Sento beside him, and finally faced his son again, blindfold still in place. "From right now. Let this be your first lesson: before you learn, you must unlearn. Recognize, who you are – and what you've become."

'_The bastard son of a bastard father…'_

Takeda knew the answer, but still felt compelled to exclaim, incredulous: "What is that even supposed to mean?!"

"That, is for you to answer, not me. But ponder over it, you have plenty of time. It's at least three days before we reach our destination."

"And where are we going, if I may ask?"

"To visit your grandmother… and your mother."

"Wait, what?!-"

"Goodnight, son."

* * *

LE DONE! :D :D :D

Special thanks to **Poe's Daughter** for sharing awesome advice with me on how to write this - particularly Kenshi! :D

Also guys, I just realized I've been teetering at 99 for a long while now - whos gonna be the lucky 100th reviewer? :D :D :D

What you all liked, didn't like, or just want to comment on - click the review button and make my day! Enjoy guys - until next time :)


	17. Of Roads to Redemption II

HOLA AMIGOS – LUMIE IS BACK =D

I am done with the academic year (WOOHOO!) And my co-op/internship starts next week :P But not to worry folks, I plan to update this more regularly now – since this has dragged on far longer than I anticipated. *fingers crossed*

Quick shout-out to my reviewers – thanks so much for sticking by this for so long! 3

**Guest:** HAHAH sorry about that! xD Read to find out more!

**PinkRedRose2:** Again, thanks for two reviews! **/hugs/** I'm glad you feel this way, I feel that Kenshi/Hanzo/Sonya/Johnny and their kids are all connected, and the themes discussed apply to everyone in their own way… TBH, Chapter 9 is probably one of my most fave chapters in the story as well – it literally reduced me to tears.. Hopefully you'll enjoy this too (even though - **SPOILERRRRR** -there's no slapping Kenshi, he's been through enough as it is xD) – I hope you can forgive him :D

**Iceangelmkx:** Thanks so much! And don't worry, there's still a good 5-6 chapters more to come, plenty of action is on the way :D I hope you enjoy this update!

**Westcoast Witch-Doctor:** Thank you! But fret not, there's a lot of things coming, minimal filler – so that's a good thing. Hope you enjoy this :)

**Poe's Daughter**: D'awww thanks PD! I can't even imagine 1000 reviews lmao, 100 is enough for my poor heart.. /**jumps around like a lunatic**/ Anyway, I'm so glad you think that was done well – I haven't done martial arts that much, but I had a feeling that it must be hard to contain yourself, especially when you train so hard. So I'm glad to see our Kung Fu queen approved this, and that it translated realistically! And you're right, Kenshi has a lot to atone for – but at the same time, there's lots for Takeda to learn too… Hopefully this sets the pace right! Hope you enjoy this update :)

**Kumolonimbus:** Given the current political climate, let me please name your review as quite honestly, the mother of all reviews :p You encapsulate everything so far SO perfectly, I feel indebted to applaud you :') Thank you so much! It is much deeper, always. We're all evolving and changing, battling ourselves, battling our situation and circumstances, embracing new roles, discarding old ones. In this story, all the characters have felt this struggle – whether physical, emotional, spiritual – some have succeeded, some have failed but most (especially Kenshi), fall onto this gray scale of things where it's so hard to tell apart right from wrong. Honestly, I learned so many things myself just writing this out – and as cheesy as it sounds, I sincerely hope my audience in the future takes away important lessons from this story… I hope you enjoy this update :)

One last reminder – again, my Thai skills are woeful, so here's the breakdown y'all. **Dara** is the name of Suchin's mother (the granny from the comics that featured in 2 whole panels). To the best of my knowledge 'grandmother' in Thai translated to **'Kun Yaai'** – that's what Takeda calls her. Again, let me know if it's wrong!

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one. But I do love Kenshi and Suchin. Jus' sayin'.**

* * *

**The Takahashi Family Saga**

**Of Roads to Redemption**

**II**

* * *

_**House of Pekara,**_

_**Primorsky Krai District, USSR,**_

_**Winter, 198X**_

Kazimir heard the whispers from the cursed sword – coming and going, ebbing and flowing in volume – or at least that was what he thought to himself. It could have well been that the cave itself was haunted, and the resident spirits had taken upon them to befriend him before he left the world permanently. Nothing was more desirable to the swordsman at that time, to simply die and wither away, like the nameless skeletons littering the floor where he sat, his elbows crossed on his knees, head buried in the crook – listening to the dead, yearning to be ranked among them.

Yet too stubborn, too proud to do it himself.

His eyes had stopped burning, leaving the entire eye region bleeding and crusty, his spidery eyelashes burnt off completely in some areas. It stung, but he ignored the pain. The dawn of his darkness was blinding enough, as it was.

Deafness may have been more preferred though. The sword just wouldn't stop _talking_.

Speaking words of comfort usually, followed by a bout of encouragement. If not, then swearing at him, calling him names, hurling bitter taunts and jeers at his mistake – his failure to realize the gravity of the situation. All initiated by his supposed crime – one which he knew nothing about.

He didn't mind the curses and barbs hurled at him by the ancient ancestral voices one bit – for the swordsman had grown listening to similar insults all his life. It was, in many ways, the only logos known to him. His stubbornness had made him resilient and callous – it fed the darkness inside, as it swelled and enslave his mind.

No, it was the former, the words of comfort that incited such flammable rage within him, he almost felt he would combust into flames entirely and burn to death in these grave-like underground chambers of the House of Pekara. To be told to try again, that his ancestors would 'guide' him. What a cruel joke! For a man whose eyes had been robbed by the same spirits, to promise him a better future. Kazimir would have appreciated the irony, if he hadn't been the subject of the vile experiment as he was – stranded cold and alone, without his senses or his mind, to actualize and drink in the harsh reality he was made to forcibly participate in.

He did not care. He did not care an iota for the pain of the Sento. He did not give a slightest damn about the fate of his supposed ancestors. And for the life of him, when deprived of sight and ability to think clearly, Kazimir felt an age-old lust creep its way into his blackened heart – to slash a pristine, steel blade into his enemy's mid-riff, until the organs were threatening to drop out of the body entirely – and then watch the terrified eyes of the enemy, hear their agonized whimpering as they struggled to collect and hold their insides where they belonged. Dying slowly, excruciatingly from the wounds – with a permanent fear of the ruthless, demon-like swordsman engraved into their own heart.

Kazimir fantasized the traitor, Song – no, Shang Tsung, as his victim in his mind's eyes. Even ridden with pain and rage, he allowed his lip to twist into a carnal smirk, his upper lip quivering.

He heard his stomach rumble – having gone nearly three days without food now.

The strict faces of the caretakers in his orphanage flashed by in his mind, as he recalled his past punishments, forced hunger at the hands of his superiors. Back then, he had been weak – and couldn't defend himself.

And now…

'_There is a flowing stream in the lower regions facing Anik… Sustenance for your body, Kazimir…'_

"Go, get it for me, then," he breathed lowly, voice laced with scorn, barely moving from the position he had been sitting in for the past few hours.

'_Nothing can help the one who does not help himself…' _

"Enough, Sento or - whatever. How do you propose I find the way around this place when _I can't see_?!" Kazimir shot back, barely hiding his anger at his own newfound futility.

'_We will guide you…'_

There it was again. The words of comfort – all empty words. How they made him angry.

And despite his blindness, Kazimir thought he saw roaring flames – as he let out an infuriated howl, throwing his sole water canteen in frustration – and then hearing its precious few contents leak out onto the floor below.

For the first time in years – Kazimir wept, from anger, fear and a sense of self-loathing so crippling, it consumed and burned away his perceptions and sense of self…

"_The time to fight may be long-gone, but know that the essence of battle lies within. Accept, do not turn away – therein, you'll find the way…"_

Sometime later, he brought his bloodied and bruised body to his feet, and with trembling hands, traced the walls of the cave, walking with deliberately slow steps, with eyes clenched shut to find the flowing stream.

He may have followed the trail of trickling water that night – but in spite of its containment, the fire deep inside burned.

* * *

_**Classified Location,**_

_**South-East Thailand,**_

_**2009.**_

He had thought the return home would be many things, but alienating, had not been on the list.

Takahashi Takeda had never been to Bangkok before, and thus could not help but be overwhelmed by the sheer size of the metropolis; with its sprawling mass of buildings meshing high-rise modernity with cheap food-carts selling foods with scents that warmed his heart – a jarring, colorful mosaic that represented a mythical home.

It was late afternoon by the time they landed in the city – traversing its bright streets to find a bus that would take them to the outskirts – where Dara lived. Here was another aspect that caught Takeda by surprise: the ease with which his blind father navigated the concrete jungle and the maddening, noisy streets - a relaxed, quiet confidence in every stride, as if _he_ were native to Thailand, instead of Takeda. Kenshi was dressed in simple, civilian clothing, blindfold still in place - yet he looked as if part of the scene around – compelling the young man to see him in a different light, altogether.

"Have you lived here before?"

"Temporarily. It's not home."

Takeda felt the response familiar, as if he had heard that before from the blind man. He swatted away flies from his face, following his father's lead.

"Nothing ever is for you, right?" he prodded, sounding sullener than he had anticipated.

"No – and for the better. Homecomings are too bittersweet for my liking." A clipped response, revealing nothing to the young fighter. Takeda rolled his eyes, and did not reply back.

There hadn't been much conversation between them – not after Tibet. Yet the silence was not awkward, or forced – despite the raging questions Takeda suppressed, and would have bombarded on his father had they had a decent relationship between. That really was the gist of it, Takeda mused – sitting beside the swordsman in a bus as it rattled along to the outskirts of the city. They weren't father and son – just two travellers compelled to share company for a while.

They said travelling together brings strangers close. Takeda had no doubts his father had some ulterior motive behind every interaction – but trust was a precious commodity in his line of work, that he knew all too well; he would never make the mistake of trusting Kenshi again.

And so, the teenager bided his time and played along with the senseless charade, mentally ready for another betrayal.

'_Betrayal…'_ mused Takeda, cynically. Seems like it was the currency of the modern era. First his father, then Master Hasashi – trusting him in the hands of a deadbeat without looking back… He clamped on the sentiment – saving it for another, preferably uneventful day.

"We are close, son. A few more stops…"

The air was heavy in the overstuffed, overheated bus – permeating in waves from the cheap steel grilles and bars, the rickety cogs turning rhythmically in a mechanical lullaby, one that stirred up a sense of déjà vu, although Takeda could not capture exactly where he had experienced something like that before…

Takeda grunted a reply – knowing Kenshi would not be bothered by the lack of conversation. Perhaps the only saving grace, was that the swordsman made a good travelling partner – keeping to himself, at a safe distance from Takeda, not stifling him with his presence.

A deep sense of anger flickered for a moment.

'_Father or not, he will remain a stranger to me. I could not care less.'_

And just like that, the anger snuffed out – replaced by a latent frustration. At himself, at Kenshi – for all the unanswered questions that swirled in his mind. Questions about anything, and everything...

'_What did he think of my mother? How did they meet? What did my mother see in him? Where was Kun Yaai all this time? Why couldn't he leave me with her? Why did he go away? How strong were the Red Dragon now? Why target him alone? Why did he leave me alone…?'_

To think all those years ago – how his small, insignificant little world turned upside down... and he had been clueless to the true nature of the damage done to him, all this time…

The thought of his grandmother now – a relic of the past brought to life with a few syllables… It seemed so unbelievable, so out of his reach.

His heart fluttered at the thought of hugging his old Kun-Yaai, his eyes teared at the thought of her old, wrinkly hands, putting morsels in his mouth with shaky hands like she used to when he fussed over eating…

And as if swept by the whirlwind, Takeda barely registered time pass – until he was standing in front of a decrepit one-story house, unfamiliar, yet wholly familiar at the same time. The warmth of the sun at his back lulled him into comfort, smiling upon him as it did so many years ago, the sound of the calm wind, cooling the sweat on his brow, a refreshing reminder of his home.

And perhaps, most jarring of all were the scents of his childhood – steamed dumplings, spices, incense, and flowers - surrounding him in an embrace, seeping to his core, turning back time to when he was just a schoolboy, returning home after a long day of studying, ready to tear into lunch.

'_Kun Yaai…'_

The tears flowed from his eyes, well before the door opened to reveal an old woman, whose sagging smile and sad eyes now radiated with joy at the sight of his damned father, whom she warmly embraced as if her own son had come home.

So overwhelmed was the Shirai Ryu with his nostalgic remembrance, that he even failed to register the smiles beamed by Kun Yaai and Kenshi, their calm exchange of pleasantries, queries about each other's health – a far cry from the stormy night where he had last seen Kenshi and Kun Yaai both, glaring at each other, and tension so palpable through the air, Takeda felt suffocated merely thinking about it.

None of the hostility remained, now.

But it was only when Kenshi side-stepped to reveal his son that Takeda was able to lock teary eyes with his sole connection to his past. And he was a child once more.

Age had been unkind to Kun Yaai, Takeda calculated at some remote part of his mind – noting how the severity of her all-white bun made her look more haggard, skin well-tanned and hunch far more pronounced. But love shone through, despite it all. It shone in her glinting eyes, now flowing with tears, and in the warmth of her embrace – even as he was ripped him from his era, and transformed him into a scared, eight year-old, and wrought with the griefs of a heart both young and old.

The sun blazed, the birds chirped, the flowers blossomed – young Takeda sobbed into his Kun Yaai's shoulder. Kenshi folded his hands behind his back, head turned away, expression unreadable, respectfully distant from the two – the silent swordsman, the perpetrator of their separation, standing guilty.

'_Maybe he's right... Homecoming, is bittersweet.'_

* * *

_**The Shirai Ryu Temple,**_

_**Classified Location,**_

_**Japan.**_

_**2009.**_

"Our recruits are growing, Master Hasashi. We will soon need to expand housing."

Jun, the fifteen-year old Shirai Ryu stated matter-of-factly, recounting to Hanzo a myriad of minor details concerning the running of the complex. They have taken in a large number of refugee children, specifically asking the army to transport them to the Shirai Ryu base from halfway across the world. Logistics were critical, at this juncture – more were expected any time soon.

Yet Hanzo's mind wandered.

He kept seeing his face in flashes – sometimes as the silvery glitter of blade against blade, at others he would be reminded of his unmatched speed, in combat. Occasionally he would remember the quiet, barely concealed, triumphant smirk that was so reminiscent of his father…

But perhaps most of all, he sought the soulful blue of Takeda's eyes – one that was not present in the sky, nor in the lakes, nor the seas.

There was no hiding it from himself – Hanzo Hasashi missed Takeda. Not that one specific night, however. His favourite Chujin's memory went with the Master wherever he went, looking over him like a spectre no matter what he did.

There was comfort in all this, Hanzo mused inwardly. It meant Takeda was missing him equally so.

"Can we manage for a fortnight?" inquired the grandmaster, tearing his mind from the past, noting how distracted he sounded.

"For a fortnight – yes, Master. The younger students like to share. But without permanent expansion, things can become difficult for everyone. Most of all, the new recruits –"

Appealing to a sudden intuition, Hanzo found himself staring across the room, the opposite end from where the young adept stood. His eye caught the frayed edge of a worn box, and all the sounds in the room, including Jun's talking, simply melted away.

A moment passed. Hanzo felt gravitated towards the item, as if he had relinquished control over all of his being.

Mentally alert now, he unseated himself, and deftly walked toward the sole window in the room, hands folded behind a rigid back. Yet instead of focusing on the glorious full moon hanging like a pristine pearl upon the lake, he tilted his head almost quizzically, and eyed the container – a cheap creation that withheld a priceless artefact: a memento from Kenshi he had not thought much about, at least not in the past few years.

The war-torn sash, bearing the seal of the House of Takahashi.

Jun had stopped talking at some point, but Hanzo was too far removed from the mundane running of the Shirai Ryu that night to care. Discarding the box haphazardly, he unrolled the sash, and examined it for the first time since he had been honored with its keeping. Conferred to Hanzo by the elder Takahashi – a token of his abdicated fatherhood – a gesture so profound, words could never acknowledge its magnitude.

The Grandmaster had never perceived he would be bound to young Takeda in such an irrevocable manner.

What he realized later that night, was that the bond he shared with Kenshi was even deeper.

Under the light of the moon, Hanzo traced its intricate pattern. Dragons of the East and West carefully embossed in the cream-coloured fabric; crimson, frayed borders highlighting ancient Kanji – words of honour that called warriors to arms. He read the ancient calligraphy in his heart:

_O warrior of the light – heed thy past,_

_Heed stirrings within the beating heart,_

_Rivalling the drums beckoning war -_

_In the midst of dark and forevermore,_

_Heed thy reason, embrace the Call of Sento_

_May thou wage your Battle in the name of peace…_

Though not meant for him, the forgotten words of Takahashi ancestors warmed Hanzo's heart. He drew a vague comparison with his own clan, and realized the Shirai Ryu followed similar teachings, valued similar relations. The past, the rage of war, the call to peace…

'_May you always fight for noble purposes, young Takeda… As your father does... As I try to do…'_

The student politely coughed to regain the Grandmaster's attention.

Hanzo closed his eyes and exhaled impatiently, quietly contemplating whether he was irked by the presence of his student due to his distraction, or because he was not Takahashi Takeda.

"Best not to try their generosity to its very limits, lest we expense it all, and leave nothing for the future…" Hanzo spoke slowly, still savouring the feeling of the silken cloth over his hardened fingers.

Drawing away, he noticed a smudge of black ink on his fingertips, leaving a slight trail. Frowning heavily, he turned the sash over in his hand – only to find a similar poetic scrawling, handwritten in barely legible writing. While the first read as a battle-song, the second verse read more like a death-poem, the final words of a dying warrior.

The content of the second verse was visibly hard to decipher. Scribed in uneven lines that, spread all over the place, even the Kanji was scribbled as if the writer did not know where his pen hit the paper.

Exactly as a blind man would write.

"Master…"

Hanzo's breath caught, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest – as realization dawned slowly and painfully.

"Leave…"

"But Maste-"

"At once!"

With a polite bow and hurried steps, the adept exited the room – but it was only when the door shut softly that Hanzo found himself exhaling shakily. The rock-solid hands that maneuvered the kunai trembled, the age-old, wispy fabric of the sash now seeming heavier than mountains. The pain crusted, swelled, and overflowed – and in one swift moment, the Shirai Ryu ninja forgot himself entirely, becoming one with the sightless swordsman at the most tender part of his being: the wounds in his heart. Reconciled perhaps, held stationary on a pedestal, but never forgotten.

There was no mistake this was Kenshi's writing. But the words – the words cut sharp and deep; and they flowed to materialize a confession. Little did the swordsman realize that in scribing this, he had also given words Hanzo's silent confession – one he had carried around in the deepest crevices of his heart forever.

_O warriors of the past – harken the truth,_

_The winds had sighed the song of the rose,_

_The tranquil moon had guided the sleeping sun -_

_But the light was forsaken, my hands are stained,_

_And I, the destroyer of peace, now claim:_

_Darkness is all I have ever attained._

Kenshi's words, his silent griefs and sorrow. Never had the Grandmaster realized how close he was to him – how Kana and Jubei had been reborn as Suchin and Takeda…

He sat down, overwhelmed by memories of the dark night when he had failed his family – the touch from their icy tomb sending gooseflesh all over his body. Floored from the memory, he wondered how he had failed to realize how similar it had always been for Kenshi. Alone, and independent; yet the two were gloriously connected in their griefs. A myriad of silent confusions coalescing into a single consciousness.

And a lifetime of regret and revenge.

That night, Hanzo reached his own conclusions. With a heartache so crippling, he physically felt the pain, the Grandmaster realized how, after all – Takeda had never had two fathers, only one. Not him, nor the swordsman – but a nameless entity, vacating a place that had never really been empty. A man, running from his past, struggling with himself, yet trying to make peace and justice in this dark, imperfect world, as well as his own vile decisions. Whether it be abandoning Takeda, or giving oneself away to Quan Chi – Hanzo, or Kenshi - it ultimately made no difference to the world.

This nameless father was sometimes Hanzo, sometimes Kenshi, sometimes even Scorpion. But imparting skills and knowledge did not allow a child to grow into a man. Only time did.

And it stood as the greatest teacher, the best of healers - perhaps the only father they all had ever truly had. It was a lesson Hanzo had learned after many a millennia, it was something Kenshi struggled to grasp himself – and this desolate reality was destined for Takeda too…

All in his own time.

* * *

**_Classified Location,_**

**_South-East Thailand,_**

**_2009._**

The first time Takeda saw his mother's grave, he was taken aback not by the stark reality of her death, but how it exuded a feeling of homecoming, beyond the grave.

It was not custom for most Thai locals to bury their dead. But he recalled Suchin often praying before meals, their monthly visits to church – carrying on her father's religion silently, as if faith would compensate for the lack of his presence in her life. He puffed cynically – his own father had not left him anything like a tokenistic show of faith to remind of his presence. But that was Takahashi Kenshi, the perpetual misnomer. To this day, Takeda knew nothing of his maternal grandfather – not even a name to put to a blank silhouette of a face. Just that Dara's meeting him was a disaster. Just as Suchin's meeting Kenshi had proved to be for her.

Nestled in a relatively spacious backyard, with the lush mountains of Khao Khiao Massif opening up splendidly behind the grave, as if in a scene taken from the movies. Thick rose-bushes, bearing pink, white and peach coloured flowers the size of his fist bloomed splendidly beside the grave's parameter, butterflies and hummingbirds fluttering away without a worry. The unbearable heat and humidity shattered in this serene place, where a persistent cool breeze blew from all directions, and shade was plentiful. A picturesque slice of heaven in the most unlikely part of the world.

In the midst of all the bloom, the grave itself, was simple – with an unremarkable gravestone, with gray rocks marking its boundaries. It was all incredibly apt however; Suchin had brought joy to everyone around her, while her own beauty was reflected in her simplicity.

Tears welled within Takeda's eyes, his arms suddenly limp, throat constricting.

"He never comes here…" noted Dara quietly.

The mere mention of his father broke the spell of the first sight – memories of the past shattering as if destroyed by cannon-fire. Anger bubbled in Takeda's veins, and he did little to guise it.

"To visit you? That's hardly a surprise," the Chujin returned bitterly, mouth curved in a snarl.

"No, Takeda. To visit _her_," insisted Dara, never tearing her eyes from the scene ahead. "I never understood why – life and death are up to the gods… We can only make peace with it – even though I wouldn't wish it on an enemy to bury their only child…"

With that, Dara's voice broke, quivering hands rising to her face as unspoken grief. Takeda wrapped an arm around her, tears flowing through his own eyes.

"How, Kun Yaai?" he asked, scorn dripping through his cold whisper. "How can you forgive him? He did this to her, to me – to us…"

The old woman merely shook her head, wiping away her tears with shaky hands. "I thought the same, for the longest time. He came back to visit me, around two weeks after he took you. I fought him with all I had, but he insisted this separation would save your life. And he came back after a few months – just to talk… and again, every few months… Never visiting her, just reliving her memory with me… I don't know when or how I found the strength to trust him – but I did, my child. And now, look at you…"

She cupped his face in both her hands, tears seeping sideways from the apple of her cheeks, her wrinkly face beaming into a glad smile. "You're so tall and strong, now! And you have her smile…"

In that bittersweet moment, Takeda realized that save for his mother, no one had ever smiled with such joy at him like that. Not Master Hasashi, though he showed his affection in other ways. Not Kenshi, whose small smiles were more secretive, reserved for his own audience, than genuine.

"I can't trust him, Kun Yaai…" Takeda returned dejectedly, after a few moments. "I trusted him once, I promised myself I won't make the same mistake again…"

Dara nodded, understanding the uphill nature of the task at hand. She was, by no means, an advocate of the blind warrior or the path he chose. His brazen selfishness robbed her of her only child, returning her in a pine-box after discarding her. And while nothing could ease the heart of a grieving mother, she had found solace in his presence. He too grieved, she knew; but in a world so reliant on promises and words, he offered none to back it up. Over time, she suspected it was her own tiredness from living a futile existence that compelled her to give up fighting the swordsman. There were no victors in this war, as it was.

"If he means well, his truth will reveal itself…" Dara began, considerate and sincere. "But for now, I'm just glad to have you back, my prince…"

And with a loving pat on the back, Kun Yaai left him alone, to confront his own past.

With heavy footsteps, Takeda walked towards the center of the small courtyard, with the intense, enticing scent of roses surrounding him. He seated himself at the foot of the grave, noticing that it bore a name Takeda had never heard before associated with his mother.

_SUCHIN TAKAHASHI_

_1968 - 1999_

It vaguely dawned on him, how profound an impact Kenshi's stay in her life had had. Changing her identity, her status, her role in life – eventually snatching it away from her. Such dispassionate analysis would have been more suitable to a stranger. Yet Takeda had never felt more estranged than he did at that moment. He quietly muttered a prayer, alien words slipping off his tongue in a cascade – as if he prayed all his life – routine show of faith for the faithless.

But it was only when he bent down to rest his head on the gray cement, when the floodgates of memories poured forth – ripping through his mental defences and overwhelming his entire being.

It could have been minutes, or hours, or days – Takeda sat at the foot, weeping bitterly, making no effort to hide his sobs or cries, just as he had the night he found out the truth about his mother. The image was so clear in his memory, the curtains of past melting away. Suchin stood in the center of his memory, tall and strong, clad in a shirt rolled up to her sleeves, sarong flowing in the wind. Dark hair, glittering like ebony under the sun – and beautiful brown eyes that overflowed with warmth.

The wind picked up again, this time with the ardent fervor of waves crashing on the sea - dispersing the dry petals surrounding the grave, and enveloping his form entirely – until he sat alone with the grave in the eye of the storm. Takeda then, felt surrounded by a fragrance – a forgotten scent that brought back a sense of nostalgia so strong, his head felt dizzy – just like he did as a child, when he would crash after spinning.

Musk, fresh water, the barest hint of jasmine…

And in the midst of the roaring wind, he heard her. The long-forgotten voice in his ears gracing him, like the remembrance of a faraway dream.

'_My Takeda… my son…' _

It was real. He opened his eyes, and sought the apparitions of his past – but could see nothing. Faced with the treachery of his sight, he began to look around frantically – until a fresh gust of wind pressed against his back, as he felt the ghost of an embrace.

And closing his eyes, he saw her arms wrapped around him. And tears spilled from his eyes again.

"Mom… I'm home…" he whispered, letting his sensations rule over him. "I miss you so, so much…"

'_I'm waiting for you… but you have much to accomplish first, my son…'_

"I'll make them pay, I'll kill them myself, I swear it!"

'_You will never be alone again…'_

"Mother…"

'_Heed him, for my sake… he will always protect you…'_

He recalled those words now – their last day together. He had been sitting on a dingy table, as Suchin wiped away his tears, trying to warn him of a danger that would take her life. But with the mere mention of Kenshi, the wind changed its direction, blowing against his face in a powerful gust, forcing Takeda to hold his breath, and turn his back…

Only to see Kenshi standing at the doorway, his face a mask of sheer yearning so wretched, Takeda felt his heart twist for his father. A vortex of dried petals surrounded him, his blindfold fluttering behind him – and in his mind's eye, Takeda saw Suchin's silhouette, facing him, her pale hand on the swordsman's hollow cheek.

'_I'm waiting for you too, my love…'_

"I know… As am I…"

'_Do not leave him alone… He needs you…'_

Images and sounds flashed in his mind – erratic, inconsistent, and wholly unfamiliar, as if he had encroached in some unknown territory. The swordsman combing through his mother's hair… Suchin's fiery gaze as she stood shielding Kenshi, drenched to the bone, the clash of steel against steel… a circle of blood, expanding to encompass the entirety of Suchin's chest… Kenshi bent over her bleeding body, howling in pain… and finally, him lying on the ground, his head nestled in Suchin's lap…

Takeda heard a fierce ringing sound, as he saw in his mind's eye his parents reunited. With a gasp, the Shirai Ryu finally snapped out of his reverie, and saw the wind dying out, petals falling over Kenshi's form, the flowers in the garden turning back to face the grave – the magic of Suchin's memory finally broken.

A painful headache replaced the visions, and with a small groan, Takeda sat up, paid his final respects, and began to walk towards the swordsman, whose own blindfolded gaze did not acknowledge him, transfixed at the grave ahead – expression unreadable, once more.

"Was that…" Words died in his throat, as the young warrior still reeled from his own spiritual awakening. "Was that what I think it was?"

"Truthfully, I don't know…" answered the swordsman softly, wistfully. "The last time she appeared like that to me, was…" Kenshi trailed off, recollecting his defeat at the hands of Movado, and his attempted suicide later that night. "… in a dream…"

"Is that why you never visit her grave? To avoid seeing her spirit?"

Kenshi looked sharply at Takeda, for suggesting such unspeakable thing. Takeda could see a rude comment at the tip of his tongue, which he barely held back. Instead, the swordsman leaned against a pillar, and exhaled slowly.

"They say when angels soar towards the highest of heavens, their wings begin to burn, after a point. There are certain boundaries even they cannot cross."

Takeda looked back at the grave, scornfully remarking: "You're no angel, Kenshi…"

"My point exactly, son," returned the swordsman, triumphant in his place. He straightened himself up, and walked towards Takeda, placing a hand on the latter's shoulder, and gesturing he look at the grave once more.

"Look ahead, Takeda. Look closely – tell me, what do you see…"

He recognized the pattern – and realized such questions would be a constant fixture in their travels, now. But he had a whole different insight now. His entire world had been turned upside down in these past few moments – glimpsing the love he had seen between the spirit of his mother, and his silent father. And of the tragedy of her death, as it had unfolded on a certain dark, dreadful night in Lampang.

He took a moment to take it all in again, before he answered. And when he did so, Takeda answered with a modicum of respect, based on newfound knowledge, even if not a renewed heart. Newfound knowledge, that what had existed between his mother and the swordsman, was as real as the flowers in bloom – and she entrusted him, to the former's care. All while his hesitant heart knew that even he accepted the swordsman's version of events, there was still no room for forgiveness of his absence the past decade – the thorns belying pristine beauty.

And, the respect: borne out of a realization that Kenshi acknowledged his limitations, and had not selfishly encroached the path to justice, as he had done with everything else.

"I see the peace that comes from death, Kenshi. But it's a farce; all I feel is fire and rage – none of this should have happened…" his words came out dark, yet empowering – puncturing through his learned consciousness, spoken from the core of his soul.

"But most clearly – I see the path that you walk on, Kenshi... And from now, I know that it is my path too."

Kenshi nodded slowly, mulling over his son's words - even as the ages' old wisdom of the Sento echoed in his mind, birthing dawn to the endless night.

* * *

Phew – that's over :p

If you've made it this far – woohoo! Hope y'all didn't feel too sleepy at this xD (Please bear with me, I don't have a whole lot of action planned up for the next update – but I'll try my best to make it more interesting)…

Some **references** for this … actually just one:

Death poems: They feature heavily in Japanese culture, ancient and modern. Specifically by samurai/warriors/military-men who commit suicide because they have failed. In this update, Idite's (Takahashi matriarch) writings were her death-poem, but it reads more so like a battle-cry than so (maybe I'll expand on this in the future). Reading this, Kenshi responds with his own version, which he penned probably sometime after being rescued by Raiden in Arc 3. This style of poetry Assertion/Response features heavily across the world as well.

Also, I try my best to introduce parts of how Kenshi recuperated after losing his sight, drawing inferences from that to how Takeda's learning everything now under his tutelage. Would love to hear all your thoughts on this - whether its working, or it just seems redundant...

Well, that's all for now! Enjoy the day folks – see you next time! :)


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